Crepuscule
by Skull Bearer
Summary: Secrets can cut as deeply as blades when kept in the dark, the War of the Lance finally crashes down on Krynn and things, no matter how important, are never the same. Sixth in the 'Ivory and Ebony' series and covers 'Autumn Twilight'. Slash. AU. Complete
1. Of Returning

_The (probably soon to be epic) take on Chronicles. Fifth in the "Ivory and Ebony" series._

_No, Skull Bearer is not making any money from this what so ever, otherwise she wouldn't be on benefit now would she?_

_Many thanks to Chetwynd for helping me with the beta work and Caramon's reaction._

**Crepuscule**

Chapter one- Of Returning

_This is a tale of a Northern Soul  
Looking to find his way back home  
-Northern Soul, The Verve._

The wind was edged with the first frosts of autumn, brushing across Raistlin's thin golden face even through the thick fur hood he wore. Summer was fading; he supposed that the vallenwoods would be a blaze of autumn flame, though he saw them as if they were already in the harsh grip of winter.

It had been five years since he had last seen Solace, and if the time his Test had taken had seemed like a thousand years, the past five had seemed like a millennia. Millennia or not, he wasn't pleased that they had returned here any more than Dalamar was. Nevertheless, sometimes their sharp eyes were not enough to see everything, and other eyes, no matter how blind, could see things they had missed.

Raistlin glanced over at the Dark elf. No, he did not look in the least bit pleased.

As if he sensed what his lover was thinking, Dalamar reached over and laid a hand on Raistlin's shoulder. "Are you alright?"

The elf had been asking that question on and off for the last couple of hours, and Raistlin knew why. It wasn't so much his worries about his lover's health, but his fears about what would happen once they had arrived. To say they had left their other companions on bad terms would be an understatement. Tanis, Sturm, and Flint would not forget the hostility the two mages bore them, even Kitiara, who was Raistlin's half-sister. However, it was not the thought of this prospective meeting what had Dalamar worried, it was the thought running into Raistlin's twin brother.

Caramon was a good friend to Tanis and the rest, but it was his attitude towards Raistlin what had irritated the two mages to no end. Thoroughly convinced of his role as protector to his frailer brother, Caramon had been deeply suspicious of Dalamar, to the point asking his friends to help to sabotage Raistlin's relationship with the elf. As Raistlin was very much in love with Dalamar, this was an endeavour doomed to failure. The young mage had been furious, vowing to disown his brother and cursing the other companions.

Everyone had left soon after that, the two mages heading south to the Tower of Wayreth. Neither of them had seen Caramon since then but Raistlin knew his brother well enough not to hope for any kind of change in attitude.

It was already late as they reached the outskirts of Solace, the small town where Raistlin had spent most of his life. They hadn't even been walking for most of the day but the frail mage was already growing tired, now that night had fallen. The two of them watched as the windows of the many houses perched amide the vallenwood branches began to glow with firelight.

"Halt!"

Raistlin stopped, shooting a quizzical glance at Dalamar. It was too dark for him to make out the figure who had stepped onto the path a little was down, but the Dark elf's eyes would have little trouble.

The aforementioned silver eyes were dark. "Goblin."

Raistlin grimaced; he could smell the creature from here.

"Two more behind us," Dalamar added unsurprised; goblins were cowards and wouldn't think of attacking them unless they outnumbered their targets.

The first goblin waddled down the path towards them, and the other two stepped out of the trees to encircle the two mages. Raistlin sighed, if it had been anywhere else, they would have noticed the creatures before this, but Solace had always lived up to its name. Luckily, they could dispatch this rabble with little difficulty if it came to blows.

The two mages drew together to face the approaching goblin, clearly the leader. "No civilians allowed out at night," it rasped. "That'll be a night in the cells-" the goblin broke off, finally appearing to notice the staff Raistlin was holding. The Staff of Magius, an artefact he had been given after taking his Test.

There was a moment's silence as the slow-witted creature formulated its next sentence, "An' I'll be im-pound-ing that staff."

Dalamar's thin lips twitched into a smirk. "Well Raistlin, you heard the goblin, hand over the staff." The human mage shot him an incredulous look; the Dark elf knew very well that his lover would rather cut his own arm off than hand over the Staff to anyone, particularly a gang of smelly goblins.

"But first-," Dalamar was still smiling nastily, "-you had better make sure he knows it's the right one he's confiscating. Don't you think you should give the guard a little... demonstration?"

Raistlin fought down his own smile, understanding what Dalamar had in mind. "Certainly. _Shirak!"_

The crystal on the Staff blazed with light, almost dazzling the two mages after the gloom of the forest and completely blinding the three goblins. After that, it was a simple job to blast two and stab the third to make sure the news of the staff didn't get very far.

Dalamar wiped the dagger blade clean on a broad vallenwood leaf and Raistlin whispered "_Dulak_." extinguishing the light.

The Red Robe leant back against a tree trunk, watching the Dark elf rifle through the pockets of the three goblins. "The Seekers in Haven must have sunk to new lows since we last heard of them," the human mage commented, "Even the Belzorites didn't employ goblins."

"Raistlin," Dalamar said tersely, still bent over the corpse, "I had succeeded in forgetting all about that unpleasantness until this very moment, _thank you_ so very much for that reminder."

This broke Raistlin's smile; the Belzorites had been a band of cultists they had run afoul of some six years back. A group of con artists led by a renegade mage, they had been exposed as frauds by the two mages, but the victory had almost cost Raistlin his life. Dalamar was right; they hadn't needed that reminder.

"Besides," Dalamar continued, pulling a fistful of steel coins from the goblin's belt pouch, "I don't think these are under the employ of the Highseekers at all, look at this." He handed Raistlin one of the coins.

Other than the eye watering smell of goblin, there seemed nothing amiss. The mage turned it over.

The five-headed dragon of Takhisis scowled back.

Raistlin blinked, he'd seen this kind of mint before when the two of them had been working as mercenaries up north. A man going by the name of Ariakas was putting together an army, and they had often found coins such as this in the pockets of people said to be working for the warlord. "What would emissaries for that army be doing this far south?"

Dalamar finished checking the bodies and stood up, brushing down his black robes. "What does anyone do with an army?" he asked rhetorically. "They conquer."

"Yes, but why start this far south? It would be almost impossible to establish supply routes this far away," he persisted.

The Dark elf shrugged and started off towards Solace again. "Then I really don't know, but if these animals are working for the Highseeker I'll _eat_ your staff."

Raistlin smiled. "I'm sure we can find a better use for it than being consumed or handing it to some greedy goblins."

Dalamar nodded, sliding a hand around Raistlin's thin shoulders. "I'd wager your staff isn't the first bit of magic gear they've tried to 'impound', either."

Personally, Raistlin thought that anyone who was foolish enough to hand their valuables to a goblin deserved everything they got- or rather, what they didn't get back.

* * *

The night air was growing cold and it was almost a relief to walk into the stuffy, crowded heat of the Inn of the Last Home. The orange glow of the fire and torches was momentarily dazzling after the darkness outside and it was a moment before Raistlin was able to make out the familiar room.

The Inn was full, so full that it took them a moment to spot those they were looking for. Crowded around the fire pit as usual, he could see Tanis Half-Elven -or Tanis Half-Human as Dalamar mockingly called him- moping as usual. The firelight flashed off the numerous buckles on Tasslehoff's pouches and -Raistlin stifled a groan- Caramon's winged dragon helm. Flint was there, the old dwarf muttering something to Sturm the Solamnic Knight who was, after Caramon, the last person Raistlin wanted to meet.

"Kitiara's not here," Dalamar commented.

The human snorted, "Are you surprised?" They both suspected that his sister had thrown her lot with the northern armies. The mage had little doubt that if it came to a choice between the vow his sister had made to her friends and the vow she had made to her paymaster, there would be no contest. A few steps forwards and Raistlin could see two other figures sitting by the fire, but there were so wrapped in cloaks and furs that nothing of their faces could be seen. A more few steps, and they were noticed.

"Oh, Reorx," Flint groaned, spotting the two mages. "Please don't tell me those two are who I think it they are." Clearly, the dwarf still bore Raistlin a grudge for setting his beard alight five years ago.

None of the companions looked any happier than Flint at the sight of them. Dalamar made a mocking bow, his sneer hidden in the shadows of his cloak. Raistlin didn't respond to the words; there one person who had _not_ been upset by their unexpected appearance.

"If that idiot tries to hug me, I'll do something worse than a burning hands spell," Raistlin hissed to Dalamar, who nodded, silver eyes locked on the tall figure.

Had Raistlin harboured any hope that his brother would have learnt his lesson in their five years apart, they were dashed the moment Caramon laid eyes on him.

"Raist!" The big man stumbled to his feet and rushed towards his brother, sending his chair crashing to the floor in the process before throwing his arms around the mage, the force of the embrace knocking Raistlin's hood back.

Raistlin's body felt as rigid as an iron bar as he tried, unsuccessfully, to extricate himself, Caramon sobbing into his shoulder. "I knew you'd come back... I'm so glad to see you again. I knew... _I knew_ something was going to happen... something was going to go wrong-"

"Let. Go. Of. Me." Raistlin's voice was a deadly whisper.

It was a mark of how bewildered Caramon was that he actually let go and took a step back, seeing, for the first time, Raistlin's face.

"Gods," the big man whispered, staring at his brother. "Raist... What _happened_ to you?" His eyes shot to Dalamar. "What did you do to him!"

Raistlin toyed with the idea of beating his brother over the head with the Staff of Magius; after all, if the Staff could increase the strength of blows until even he could kill a goblin with one strike and create light where there was none, surely it could knock some sense into his brother's hollow skull?

The rest of the group had now seen him and disapproval had given way to shock. "Name of the Gods," Flint breathed, horror-struck. "What evil's at work here? Are you cursed?"

"Well?" Caramon spat at the Dark elf. "Did you curse him? _What did you do to him!"_

"Shut up you oaf," Raistlin hissed. No, Caramon had not changed in the least, all too ready to blame Dalamar for some imagined wrong. "Or do I need to set your clothes alight again for you to listen?"

The silence was total and immediate and even the kender's hyperactive chattering stopped; clearly even the irrepressible Tasslehoff didn't want to repeat _that_ particular experience.

"Dalamar had nothing to do with this," Raistlin's voice cut through the silence like a knife. "This... change in my appearance and my health was due to a situation entirely of my own making." Well, not exactly, Raistlin thought, remembering Fistandantilus.

"What situation?" Caramon choked, his hand gripping Raistlin's shoulder so hard it was painful.

Raistlin pulled his twin's hand off; he hated being touched by anyone save Dalamar. He also had no wish to keep this conversation going any longer than he had to. "When we last saw each other I had been selected to take the Test in the Tower of High Sorcery," he said shortly. "It was a terrible trial and in my battle to pass I was nearly killed." He paused for effect. "Yet I did not die and when I awoke..." Raistlin let his voice trail off and lifted one thin, golden-skinned hand. The firelight played on the strangely reflective surface.

"So do not think to blame Dalamar, he was not even allowed within the walls of the Tower, let alone close enough to have the chance to..." Raistlin sneered, "_hurt_ me." His tone told everyone exactly what he thought of that particular possibility.

Tanis spoke up for the first time, frowning, "So what did?"

"I think we'd all like to know that," Dalamar muttered from behind him.

Raistlin shot Dalamar a scowl. "The price of power, as you well know." His hand tightened on the warm wood of the Staff of Magius.

Tasslehoff was clearly longing to ask more, but one look from Tanis shut him up. "I think everyone should sit down." He called to the barmaid, "Tika, could you bring us two more chairs?"

"Sure." Within a few moments, Tika had returned, dragging a pair of stools from a corner. Caramon tried to manoeuvre himself between his brother and Dalamar, but this only meant that Raistlin, utterly disgusted, took his stool and sat down on the Silvanesti's other side, between the elf and one of the cloaked strangers, both of whom had been observing the drama intently.

Tanis leant forward on his own stool. "None of this explains what either of you are doing here, I don't recall either of _you _joiningthe vow five years ago."

This time Dalamar spoke, "You left to seek news of the old Gods- Oh, you needn't look so surprised, we _were_ sitting only a few tables away when you discussed it- and as this was a goal not so far removed from our own, we thought to come back here, like you, after five years and discover what you may have found out." Raistlin lifted an eyebrow, for the sharped tongued Dark elf, that was almost cordial, particularly since he was speaking to Tanis, who he very much disliked.

"Nothing." Tanis's voice was bitter with remembered failure. "Nothing but charlatans and tricksters."

Raistlin caught Dalamar's gaze and the Dark elf raised an eyebrow. Their search had discovered little more, but everywhere there had been whispers, strange whispers of old gods, dragons and above all, war.

_Skull Bearer._


	2. Of Escaping

_Tsukiyo no Yume: I enjoyed writing that line too, the idea was taken from one of the Icewind Dale games, where a troll makes a club to 'knock some sense into her empty husband's head'. Unfortunately for us all, the Staff of Magius does not have this power. ;)_

_Scarlet Dragon: I hope it'll be up to scratch, this is a very important timeline i'm covering. Thanks for the review._

_Dagmar the Dark: Cheers._

**Crepuscule**

Chapter two- Of Escaping

_He's coming from that same old road  
You know the one your folds don't know  
-Northern Soul, The Verve_

During the conversation, no one had been paying attention to the two strangers, although they had clearly been listening carefully to them. It was only now, with the rest of the group talking amongst themselves with even the two mages, listening to Tanis' recollection of the search the Highseeker's guards were conducting for a staff, and an old man starting a storytelling session beside them, that they felt comfortable enough to remove the hoods still shading their faces.

Tasslehoff noticed it first, and leant forward to tug on Tanis's sleeve, which got everyone's attention.

Raistlin glanced impassively at the woman Tasslehoff was pointing at. He had never been interested in women at the best of times and now, with Par-Salian's curse leeching the beauty and youth of all he saw save elves and -he suppressed a shudder- Irda, all women looked the same to him. The only thing to distinguish this one was the lack of weapons. She was armed only with a simple walking staff, trimmed with feathers in the barbarian way.

On turning back, however, he was slightly surprised to see that everyone else was staring at the Plainswoman; even Dalamar was looking mildly impressed.  
Raistlin smirked, despite a slight stab of annoyance. "Is she that attractive?"

The woman's companion, a man whose thinness -Raistlin was sure- was not entirely due to the observing mage's cursed sight, scowled at him. He had been eyeing the group nervously and had obviously taken Raistlin's question as an affront to his charge. "Are you insulting the Chieftain's Daughter?" he snarled and made to get up.

Tanis forestalled him, "He meant no offence, warrior, and-" he added, with a cold look at the two mages- "he's not interested in women anyway."

Whatever the Plainsman was about to say was mercifully interrupted by the old storyteller and his audience asking the Plainswoman for a tale. Upon her polite refusal, the old man, addressing her by name -Goldmoon- asked if she would sing for them instead.

The song the woman sang was long, a soft lamenting tale of herself and the warrior beside her, and of a search for a blue crystal staff.

As beautiful as the song was, the reaction to it was less than. One of the men listening was the Highseeker Theocrat, Henderick, and he was not pleased by what he heard, and even less by the old man's subsequent tale of the old gods. The drunken Theocrat stumbled to his feet, calling for the guards to arrest the whole group as heretics and demanding that the woman hand over her staff. Naturally, she refused.

Raistlin recalled later that it was exactly from that point that everything began to go downhill. Hederick had lunged for the staff and the Plainsman had repulsed him with a shove that sent to the Theocrat tumbling into the fireplace.

Raistlin winced, and glanced over at Dalamar; this was not a situation they wanted to get into. The Theocrat had become a human torch and neither of them wanted to be arrested as accomplices to murder. Best to creep away quickly and hope nobody noticed.

Quietly picking up their bags, the two mages made for the door amidst the commotion, but before they were able to got more than two steps, there was a shout and a gasp from the crowd.

Under instructions from the aged storyteller, Tasslehoff had grabbed the Plainswoman's staff and hit the Theocrat with it, thinking to knock the man over and smother the flames. Upon striking the man, the staff had flashed a bright, vivid blue and the flames died instantly. Moreover, the Theocrat's burns were healed completely!

Raistlin stared and Dalamar's eyes went wide. "True healing," the Dark elf breathed, amazed.

If Hederick was grateful, however, he had an odd way of showing it. The Theocrat was enraged, calling on the guards to arrest the whole lot of them, including -Raistlin felt sure- himself and Dalamar. The man then plunged his hand back into the flames in order to 'purify' himself. This time it was Dalamar who winced, and Raistlin could guess why: If this man, who was quite clearly a fanatic, could happily burn his own hand off, it was all too easy to imagine what such a zealot would do to those he termed heretics.

Not to mention, as Tika was now explaining, that the whole town had been turned upside down in a search for the very staff Tasslehoff held. The people in the room was scowling at them, some moving to gasp at the handles of assorted weapons.

"We'll go out though the kitchen," Tanis called.

The two mages looked at each other; _they_ were in no hurry to stay in the Inn and be executed, as the unperturbed Sturm seemed to be. They made their way quickly after the rest, leaving Tanis behind as he tried to reason with his friend. Clearly, the knight's code forbade him to run away even when his life was in danger, and it was only by appealing to Sturm's vow to protect Goldmoon that he got the man moving.

Raistlin and Dalamar quickly followed the others out of the main room and through the kitchen. The way out was little more than a hole cut on the floorboards with a rope attached to the overhead beams so food could be hoisted up. Tasslehoff, Goldmoon and her warrior were already on their way down, but Caramon was waiting for them by the hole.

"How are you going to get down, Raist?" he asked, looking worried. "I can carry you-"

"Get out of my way!" Raistlin snarled, using the Staff of Magius to shove his brother back. He glanced back at Dalamar. "What about you?"

The Dark elf waved the question away. "I'm perfectly capable of climbing down a rope, as you know very well."

The Red Robe thought about adding that while yes, Dalamar did know how to clamber down a rope, he had never seen the elven mage do this with a crowd of furious guardsmen on his heels, but decided against it. Tightening both hands on the Staff and ignoring his brother's exclamation, he jumped.

The feeling of weightlessness was comforting, a reminder that the spell had worked and that he was not plunging to his death. The blaze of magic surrounded him and the crystal mounted on his staff glowed bright, lighting up the gloom and flickering on the fabric of his red robes as he floated down.

Landing on the dead leaves already carpeting the ground, Raistlin looked back up. Dalamar had followed him, climbing easily down the rope and shooting alarmed looks up at Flint and Caramon, whose combined weight was making the rope creak loudly. After that came Tanis, who slipped halfway down and no doubt left bits of skin decorating the rope, and finally Sturm.

Tika leant out of the hole they had just climbed out of, mouthing at them to hide out at her house. By now, all of them could hear the footsteps of the Solace guards making their way towards the inn, and nobody argued when they struck out for Tika's house, Tanis reasoning that they could stay there the night and lie low for a few days while everything blew over, before helping the Plainsmen on their way.

The two mages lagged behind, partly due to Raistlin's exhaustion and partly to talk in relative privacy. Dalamar gave a sardonic smile. "Well, we came here for news of the gods, and this is certainly more than either of us ever dreamed."

"A fine line between a dream and a nightmare, Dalamar," Raistlin said softly. He was tired, and could feel a coughing fit coming. As if prompted by that thought, the human mage doubled over, coughing up the blood that seemed to have flooded his lungs.

Dalamar caught him by the arm and helped him limp along. "Raistlin," the Dark elf's voice was so quiet Raistlin wasn't sure he'd heard it.

"What?" The word was choked out.

"I- never mind."

Raistlin cursed silently; he knew what Dalamar was about to say, the Dark elf's thoughts were written all over his face. He would want to know if the staff's power could heal Raistlin's shattered body.

The human mage knew it wouldn't. Not even the clerical magic of the old gods could have helped stop Fistandantilus' constant drain that kept the wounds in his lungs from healing and kept the withered old lich alive. Not that Dalamar knew that particular fact, and if Raistlin had anything to do with it, he never would.

Instead, Raistlin changed the subject, "This is not going to be over by morning."

Dalamar snorted, "After the goblin guards nearly turned the whole of Solace upside down? Half-Human's being overly optimistic. Still, with a bit of luck we'll at least be able to get a good night's sleep."

The human mage sighed again. After what they had seen in the Sentinel Peaks, and remembering the sheer stubbornness of their goblin pursuers, Raistlin knew they would be lucky to have one night's grace.

* * *

Despite Raistlin's pessimistic expectations, all was quiet. They had reached Tika's house after a very arduous climb that had the mage coughing blood again by the end of it. He was now seated by the fireplace, sipping the warm tea and feeling his body relax from the spasms that had shaken him. Dalamar was gently stroking his back, something that always helped to calm him.

Their eyes were fixed on the blue crystal staff in the Plainswoman's hands as she gently touched Tanis's palms with it, its smooth edges shining in the firelight.

"What do you think?" The Half-elf asked, turning to the two mages asked. Clearly his wish for answers outweighed his animosity towards them.

"It may be a wizardly staff, but then I have never seen illusions like it," Dalamar answered. Raistlin took as sip of tea and nodded.

Tanis raised his hands; he had scraped them bloody sliding down the rope, yet now they were whole and unmarked. "No illusion," he said grimly.

Raistlin stifled a small cough. "If she's a charlatan, then she's a good one."

This comparison didn't please the Plainsman, who had to be restrained my Goldmoon. Raistlin ignored them.

"If I may?" he asked, gesturing towards the staff. Beside him, he felt Dalamar tense and fought down a sigh. The Dark elf was going to be disappointed.

Quite how disappointed, he didn't know until his fingertips touched the gleaming crystal, then there was a blinding flash of blue light and a loud crack. Raistlin snatched his hand away with a low cry, staring at his hand. The skin was burnt, the golden pallor stained with red.

Dalamar made as if to take the staff, but his companion stopped him. "Do not touch it!" If he was right, the elven mage might come away with worse than a few burns. Of course, he might be wrong, but there was no need for the Dark elf to take the risk.

At least not while there was someone all but lining up to take the risk for him. "Caramon."

The big man jumped. "Raist?"

Biting back his ire -his irritation with the childish nickname had not changed-, Raistlin continued, "Pick up the staff."

Caramon hesitated for a moment before fear yielded to the loyalty to his twin. He reached down and picked up the staff. Nothing happened.

Raistlin nodded; he was right. He had heard of such godly objects existing in the days before the Cataclysm. "See there, only those of simple goodness, pure of heart-" His sarcasm was biting, after all Caramon had done to make Dalamar's life hard, he wouldn't call his brother 'of simple goodness', still, there was no accounting for taste- "may touch the staff. It is a sacred staff of healing, and no doubt blessed by some god. This is no magic, I have heard of no magic objects that provide healing."

"Shhh!" Tasslehoff's voice interrupted from the window, where the kender was looking out into the night. Sure enough, they could all hear the flapping footsteps of goblins. "It's the Theocrat's guards," Tasslehoff continued excitedly.

They could hear the rasping voices clearly now, banging on doors and arguing as they made their way past the neighbouring houses towards theirs. What was worse, Raistlin noticed with a sinking feeling in his stomach, that idiot Tanis had forgotten to lock the door, or even close it! It hung half open, swaying gently in the breeze. Caramon made his way to stand behind it, but before he had the chance to shut it, the goblins pushed their way inside.

Of course, after that it was a simple case of Caramon stepping up behind them and banging their heads together. Unfortunately, Raistlin thought sourly, his twin's brawn once again outweighed his brains; he hit the goblins so hard he killed them.

Tanis was grim. "Well, that's torn it; we've murdered two of the Theocrat's guards. He'll have the whole town up in arms. Now we can't just lie low here for a few days -we've got to get out of here! And you two-" He turned to the barbarians. "-have better come with us."

"Wherever we're going," Flint mumbled into his beard.

"Where were you headed?" Tanis asked the plainsman -Riverwind.

"We were travelling to Haven."

Raistlin turned to Dalamar, and the Dark elf shrugged. As disagreeable as the company might be, they had little choice. There was safety in numbers, so it was said -although Raistlin privately thought that whoever had concocted that had never met Caramon- and, like Tanis, they were curious about the staff. Haven it was.

The house was a rush of activity for the next few minutes; Raistlin was putting out the fire, Caramon and Sturm making it look as if there had been a fight, and everyone else raiding the larder. Dalamar glanced around and, seeing nothing for him to do, took the opportunity to ransack to goblin bodies for any steel the smelly creatures might have been carrying.

The Plainsman looked disgusted. "Do you have no shame, robbing the dead?"

Raistlin and Dalamar exchanged pitying glances; they had little doubt that if they had been the ones dead on the floor, the goblins would have happily riffled through _their_ belongings.

"Very well," the Dark elf said, straightening up. "And if we are caught and have to bribe our way out, I'll make sure to exclude you, seeing as you wouldn't want to _sully yourselve_s with coins from the dead." He shook the goblin's chinking kidskin purse in their direction and went to stand beside Raistlin.

Tanis interjected before anything got out of hand, "Stop this, we've got enough trouble without adding to it. We will escort you north," he added to the Plainsmen, "and at the crossroads you may go southwest to Haven if you wish. I for one-" And here he glanced at his companions- "will carry on north, and find out what is happening there."

Raistlin smirked, so did Dalamar. They knew that was not the only reason the half-elf was eager to go north. "Clearly he misses having Kitiara to warm his bed," Dalamar said in a carrying whisper.

Tanis flushed, and curiously, so did Sturm. Raistlin put it down to the knight's rather prudish morals. "Is that plan all right?" The Half-elf continued as if he hadn't heard.

Everyone had expressed his or her agreement, and Goldmoon turned to Tanis, thanking him. "You risk your lives for us, and we are strangers."

Raistlin saw Tanis' smile in the half-light of Lunitari and sneered.

"I am Tanis," the half-elf said. "The knight is Sturm Brightblade, Flint Fireforge is the dwarf, and Caramon Majere is the big one, Tasslehoff is the kender. There, we are no longer strangers."

"And the mages? Who are they?"

Tanis's smile faltered. "They are not exactly friends of ours-"

"Now there's an understatement," Dalamar commented dryly.

"-The Red Robe is Caramon's brother, Raistlin Majere, and the Dark elf is Dalamar Nightson."

There was a moment's silence, then as one, everyone moved towards the door. Tanis stayed a moment, surveying the room with his typical look of melancholy, before sighing and following them out of the door.

_Please remember to review._

_Skull Bearer._


	3. Of Exhaustion

_Again thanks to Chetwynd for the beta work and the ideas._

_Dagmar the Dark: Thank you._

_Pen D. Fox: Of course they will be different, Dalamar's too cool to take a backseat on things!_

_Xelloss-chan: It's Darken Wood in English, thank you for the review._

**Crepuscule**

Chapter 3- Of Exhaustion

_I want to see if you know me  
I was born in a rented room  
-Northern Soul, The Verve._

By the time Raistlin had reached ground level, he was exhausted. Never tolerant of physical stress even before the Test, the long march, the mad flight and the arduous climb both up and down the vallenwoods had been more than he could stand. As the group marched off towards Crystalmir lake, the mage found himself beginning to lag behind.

He fought down a sigh, now it was a toss up to see who'd notice first. Mercifully, it was Dalamar.

Raistlin opened his mouth to argue, but the Dark elf raised a hand to forestall him. "I haven't forgotten what we talked about in the Sentinel Peaks, nor am I trying to smother you like your brother would, but even you cannot deny that you _are_ having problems and neither are you the only one. Look-" he pointed at Goldmoon, who was leaning heavily on Riverwind's arm- "So let me help you, before we fall behind completely."

Raistlin shot him a half grateful, half exasperated look and let Dalamar put an arm around his shoulders. The soft fabric of the Dark elf's black robes brushed gently against his back and he leant in closer welcoming the contact and body warmth. Dalamar hugged him tightly and despite the situation he saw the elf's face crack into a smile.

It wasn't long before the vallenwoods- and mercifully, the search parties- were behind them. Buoyed by his brother's previous attention, Caramon had come over to offer his aid and was repulsed with a snarl from Raistlin.

Behind them, they could hear a vehement argument raging between Tanis and Flint, although the Half-elf spared a moment to scowl at Raistlin. Tanis was planning to use a boat to cross the lake away from the search parties, and the dwarf was point-blank refusing. Raistlin sighed, was _everything_ conspiring against them tonight?

The lake was probably as cold as it looked and this time Raistlin had no problem asking Dalamar for assistance to get into the boat. To get wet was an invitation to get ill, especialy now the temperature was dropping rapidly. There were no clouds in the sky and while a clear night might be beautiful, it would also be very cold. The Dark elf shot him a quick smile- one that clearly said did the _Abyss just freeze over?-_ and lifted him into the boat before climbing in himself.

Although Raistlin feared they would be caught before they could shove off due to the dwarf's stubbornness, Half-elven was just as eager to leave as they were. After a terse argument with Flint, in which the dwarf snorted that he would rather take his chances with the Theocrat than the boat, Tanis gave up and got in himself.

Raistlin shivered, the cold was getting more pronounced and he huddled back into the welcome warmth of Dalamar's robes. The Dark elf put his arms around him and wrapped them both in his cloak.

"The fool." Dalamar breathed by Raistlin's ear, watching Flint kick his way along the lakeside as they rowed away. Raistlin looked at him questioningly. "He knows where we're going, where we're going to stay the night, and if whoever's behind the search for the staff was willing to search every house in Solace to find it, they won't have any qualms about how to get the dwarf to tell them what he knows."

Tanis looked sickened at Dalamar's callous words, although he couldn't refute their value. "'Stubborn as a dwarf.'" He snapped, "Flint will tell them nothing, even if they find-" he broke off, staring over the mage's shoulders at the bank.

Flint was charging towards them, waving his arms and shouting. "Hang on! I'm coming!"

Clearly, Raistlin thought, the dwarf had seen the goblins, who were even now charging out of the tree line, and reconsidered.

Although he couldn't see the goblins, the amount of torches making their way towards them was daunting. Worse, he could see their light glinting off the sharpened points of arrowheads. Archers.

"I'll cover him." Tanis stood up in the rocking boat and unslung his own bow, starting to shoot arrows into the massing ranks of goblins while Caramon plunged into the water, trying to reach Flint before the dwarf went under.

The two mages also got to their feet, staggering slightly at the wild motions of the boat as Tasslehoff tried to row them back. Raistlin glanced over at Dalamar, "Aim by the shoreline," The Dark elf whispered, his sharp eyes picking out the goblins where Raistlin's couldn't, "There are a group of archers massing on the right."

Raistlin nodded, sliding his mind into the familiar concentration of spellcasting and reaching into a pouch for the components. Dalamar did the same, his eyes fixing on the goblins now charging into the water after Flint and Caramon.

The look on the big man's face was quite comical when the lead goblin, who had almost caught up with him, was mown down by a double blast of magic by the Dark elf. Over on the bank, the arrows abruptly ceased when the archers suddenly decided they could do with a good nap.

The big man finally reached the boat and heaved Flint bodily into it before climbing in himself.

Raistlin collapsed back down, his chest seizing up again and black motes dancing before his eyes. After the mad chase in the last few hours, the exhaustion of spellcasting was the last straw. Gods, he was so _tired_.

Gods...

He glanced over the side of the boat. The water was smooth as glass, broken only by the ripples of the oars and the boat's keel. It mirrored the heavens like some enormous looking-glass, reflecting the mountains, the newly risen moons, the stars... and darkness.

Raistlin blinked, surely that wasn't right. Slowly, he tracked up from the shimmering surface of the lake to the night sky.

Where once stars had spun and shone their cold light, there was nothing.

Raistlin reached out and tapped on Dalamar's arm, there was no need, the Dark elf had followed his gaze and had seen the gaping void in the sky. Nor were they the only ones, Goldmoon and Riverwind too were looking up, whispering in their own language.

Raistlin reached out and caught Tanis's shoulder, tightening his grip when the Half-elf tried to pull away. "Tanis..." Raistlin internally winced at the whispering hiss that was all he could muster and the hitch which promised more spasms.

"What?"

Raistlin didn't bother trying to speak, jerking his head up at the sky. Tanis looked, shrugged, and Raistlin mentally cursed the Half-elf's idiocy. He would have to explain.

Resigning himself to another coughing fit, he snarled at Tanis. "The constellations."

"What about them?"

Was he really as blind as he was stupid? Raistlin tried to ignore the tell-tale tightening of his throat and was about to try again when Dalamar interrupted, "They're gone you blithering idiot." He snarled, obviously irked that Raistlin would have had to nearly choke himself to explain the blindingly obvious.

Raistlin swallowed dryly a few times and forced back the pain in his chest, shooting a thankful look at Dalamar. The Dark elf continued, pointing up; "There. The constellation of the Queen of Darkness was there. It's gone. And over there, opposite her, that was the Valiant Warrior, also gone." Dalamar seemed paler in the dim light, and his voice died to a whisper, "Gone to fight her."

Raistlin rested his chin on his hand, nodding. "The rumors." He whispered, "War, death, destruction..." He trailed off as the coughing fit finally seized him. "All true..." The words were choked.

"C'mon Raist," Caramon said soothingly, "It's only a bunch of stars-" It was his turn to break off under the force of the twin stares boring balefully through him. If Raistlin and Dalamar had been intimidating before, it was nothing to how they were now. The loathing written into every part of their expressions was enough to render anyone speechless.

Raistlin didn't speak. With his chest still tightened it would have been impossible, and he was beyond speech anyway. His brother's condecending tone made the idea of throwing him overboard and using him as magical target practice inviting.

Dalamar did speak, and his words were dripping with scorn. "Only a bunch of stars," he sneered. "As opposed to, say, 'only a bunch of mountains', or 'only a bunch of islands'. The moons are the Gods of Magic and the constellations show the other divinities! Only a bunch of stars indeed!"

Tanis was still staring up at the sky as if he'd never seen it before, seeming to have barely heard the exchange.

* * *

RTaistlin was almost asleep when the boat hit the opposite shore. The crunch of shingle jerked Raistlin out of the half sleep he had sunk into and he looked up from where he had been huddled against Dalamar. The Dark elf stood up and helped him out of the boat, towards one of the many caves sunk into the cliffs on this side of the lake. 

The opening was deceptively small, and just as well, for not only would it be hard for their pursuers to spot, but they might also pass it over in favour of larger caves. Once inside, however, it was large enough to accomodate all of them, though as Tasslehoff remarked, there wasn't much in the way of furniture.

A light rain had started outside, and the dry cave was a welcome respite, especially when a fire had been started and branches stacked at the entrance to keep out the rain.

Raistlin sat down beside the fire, Dalamar beside him. The coughing spasm he had been suppressing caught up with him and he doubled over, hacking up blood.

It was a relief, when the wracking cough had finally ceased, to feel the familiar touch on his back, rubbing slowly. He leant back against it, feeling the Dark elf's hands soothe away the residual tension.

"Come here," Dalamar whispered.

Raistlin was happy to oblige, scooting back until he was almost sitting in the elf's lap and those warm arms were wrapped around him. It was a simple motion then, for Dalamar to brush his white hair away and to press his thin lips against the tender skin of his neck, his hands tracing circles over Raistlin's waist.

Raistlin sighed, feeling the familiar prickle of pleasure in his belly. Their idea of traveling to Solace had been planned as much to be a break as information seeking. Warm food, good beds, and the opportunity to indulge their passions in each other, something which it could be difficult to find time for otherwise.

Instead of that, they were here; in a damp cave on a cold and now rather wet night while having to share their sleeping room with the last group of people they would want to. Raistlin didn't have enough energy to spare for anger, but he did feel rather disappointed.

The sound of someone nearby broke him out of his introspection. Goldmoon was standing beside them, holding a cup of wine and looking uneasy. Clearly she wasn't sure what to make of the two of them together.

"Can you drink this?" She offered the cup to him.

The taste of his own blood was still strong in Raistlin's mouth and there was little he wanted more than to wash it out, but the tight band around his chest made drinking anything impossible. He shook his head, fighting back the spasm. Dalamar stroked his back and the pain abated a little.

Goldmoon was clearly unsure, possibly they didn't have same-sex couples in Que-shu, or maybe it was the fact that Dalamar was an elf that disturbed her. She should join up with Caramon and the others, he thought bitterly, they'd get along marvelously. He'd lost count of how many times Caramon had offered to find him a girl if he left Dalamar.

"Perhaps... my staff?" She asked hesitantly.

Raistlin didn't have to see Dalamar to know what he must be feeling at that moment. The Dark elf wanted to believe that the staff could cure Raistlin- how often had he tried to convince his lover to search for a cure?- but no doubt he could remember all too well what had happened when Raistlin had tried to pick up the staff. The human mage's palms ached in sympathy at that thought.

"Perhaps-" Dalamar started.

The effort it took to speak was almost too much, Raistlin's voice was a cracked whisper, interbroken with fits of coughing as he interrupted. "No. The staff will not heal me... as I have told you many times"- the last aimed at Dalamar- "Do not waste it's power... for if it is indeed a blessed artifact... it's power is limited. Do not use it unless you have to..." Another glance at Dalamar, "My body was my sacrifice for the magic. The damage is permanent. _Nothing_ can help."

And by all the Gods, it would spare them both a lot of pain if Dalamar could just resign himself to it as Raistlin had.

The awkward moment was broken by Sturm dragging Flint into the cave. The dwarf had nearly drowned on the voyage over and appeared to be in shock, and Sturm wasn't in an excellent mood either, scowling darkly at the two mages.

Raistlin ignored the knight, he was tired and cold, and despite the lack of privacy he felt quite happy to simply curl up against Dalamar and go to sleep.

In fact, that didn't seem like such a bad idea at all.

It took only a few short moments to unwrap the bedroll they shared and to climb in together, throwing their cloaks on top of the blankets for extra warmth.

Raistlin pulled his robes off, and bundled them up to serve as a pillow. He burrowed up against the Dark elf, who certainly hadn't been averse to turning in himself. He too had stripped off and the touch of his bare skinwas warm and familiar. One arm snaked around Raistlin's waist, holding him even closer.

Raistlin smiled. He was just starting to drift off when an argument broke out between Riverwind and Sturm, Raistlin opened one eye and shared first a despairing look with Dalamar, then a lingering kiss.

Argument or no argument, before it was settled he had slipped into a sleep as black as the night outside.

_Please review._

_Skull Bearer._


	4. Of Acceptance

_Crepuscule: Cheers, Tanis is one of my least favoured characters, he is such a self-pitying git._

_Red Malys: Of course I'll be adding more, I still have the rest of Chronicles to cover, plus Legends and Summer Flame!_

_Dalamar Nightson: Glad you liked it. I've been very busy._

_Scarlet Dragon: Thanks._

_Scribbles Editor: it's either than or have it from the POV of Tanis Half-Elven and his merry band of idiots. No thanks. This chapter from Dalamar's POV._

_Hally: I love my Dally too... (**huggles)** But I'm afraid I can't answer your questions without revealing a plot point, so you'll just have to wait._

_**Different POV this time.**_

_Longer than usual, but then I've got a lot to fit in, even without the half-elf's moping._

**Crepuscule**

Chapter four- Of Approval

_My mother didn't get no flowers  
Dad didn't approve of me, do you?  
-Northern Soul, The Verve._

There was a cold draft between his shoulder blades. Dalamar groaned and rolled over, tugging the blankets over his head in an effort to get away from the annoying sensation. He tried to go back to sleep but it was too late, he was awake.

Growling to himself, the Dark elf sat up, rubbing his eyes in the dawn light filtering through the tree branches piled by the cave mouth. The only other one awake was Caramon, taking the 'dead man's watch'.

Dalamar pulled his robes on and got up, taking a moment to tuck the blankets around his still-sleeping lover and press a kiss against the mage's white hair. It wasn't often he was the first one awake. Raistlin was usually the last one to go to sleep and the first one to wake up, but clearly the events of the last night had drained the younger mage more than he had admitted.

Well, no one else was awake and intelligent conversation was non-apparent, he might as well take the time to study his spellbook for today, in the chaos of last night neither of them had the chance to do so.

Something told the Dark elf he would need all the magic he could get today.

It was peaceful, sitting beside the glowing embers of last night's fire and reading, letting the magical sigils burn themselves into his mind as they were burnt into the parchment. Peaceful, that was, until a shadow fell across the page.

Here we go again. Dalamar resigned himself to another round of pointless and groundless accusations.

To his surprise, Caramon looked more awkward than accusing. The big man was shifting from foot to foot and seemed to look anywhere that wasn't Dalamar.

"Yes?" Honestly, sometimes he couldn't imagine how Raistlin had been able to survive living with this oaf without going stark raving mad.

"Um... I just wanted to say... Thanks... You know, for yesterday." Caramon looked as if those words pained him greatly.

Dalamar almost dropped his book into the ashes; first Raistlin accepted his help yesterday and now Caramon had just thanked him! The Abyss clearly _had_ frozen over.

He was glad that his voice betrayed no sign of his shock, staying as calm and cold as always. "You're welcome."

Caramon stood there for a few more seconds before blurting out, "This doesn't mean I've changed my mind about you!"

Dalamar raised an eyebrow. "I sincerely hope not, as I certainly haven't changed mine. Now move, you're blocking the sunlight."

The Dark elf had to hide a smile as the big man stomped back to the cave entrance. He couldn't wait to share this with Raistlin. Still grinning, he turned back to his spellbook.

It didn't take long for everyone else to awaken, what with the sunlight now lighting up the cave. The next one was Raistlin, who rolled over, found himself alone in his bedroll, and woke up. Slightly disorientated, the mage glanced around the cave, muttered an incoherent 'good morning' to Dalamar, and got dressed before joining the Dark elf with his spellbook and herb pouch.

"How are you feeling this morning?" Dalamar said softly.

"Much better." Raistlin looked up from fixing his tea and smiled. "You?"

"I wasn't the one coughing myself hoarse yesterday." Dalamar leant over and kissed first the mage's cheek, and then his lips.

"Do we really have to observe your sordid affairs?" Ah, Sturm was up.

Dalamar reluctantly broke the kiss. "I don't see you criticizing _them_." He pointed at Riverwind and Goldmoon, both of whom were still asleep and curled up together.

Sturm scowled and went off to join Caramon.

Raistlin watched him go. "It's a mystery which one bothers him most, that you're a Dark elf, that we're mages, or that we're both men."

"Probably a bit of all three." Dalamar nuzzled Raistlin hair. "It isn't worth bothering about, and neither is he."

The next one awake was far less argumentative: Tasslehoff was the only one who hadn't minded them coming along, in fact, he seemed delighted about it. The kender greeted them boisterously, which had both mages looking through their equipment to see what he had taken. After they had regained their possessions (he had taken Raistlin's herb pouch and Dalamar's dagger), Tas ran off to wake Flint up.

The dwarf ignored the kender's prods and kept up a loud, continuous snore, finally waking himself up after a particularly loud one.

Ignoring the yelps and the tussle that followed, the Dark elf turned back to his spellbook, blocking out the world. Raistlin finished his tea and joined him.

When he had finally finished memorizing spells for the day, Dalamar let himself drift back to reality. Everyone else had woken up, and Caramon was complaining loudly about the food, or rather, the lack of it. The breakfast, it turned out, was oatmeal. Not particularly nice but at least it was edible, unlike the cheese, which seemed to be more maggots than anything else.

The elven mage ate his rather tasteless share, and whacked Caramon on the knuckles with the hilt of his knife when the big man tried to sneak his brother's portion. Raistlin fought back a laugh.

"Thank you for the defence, Dalamar, but I'm afraid I'm not feeling very hungry." He offered him the plate. "You can have it if you want."

The Silvanesti ignored Caramon's expression and shook his head; he'd eaten enough and didn't need much anyway. Between Raistlin and himself they probably only ate enough for one average person.

And Caramon probably ate enough for two or three average people, he thought disgustedly, watching the big man finish off the unwanted food and shoot covetous glances at the other's plates.

Between Caramon's gluttony and Tasslehoff's merciless teasing of Flint ("So shipmate, how's the price of fish today?"), it was a miracle they got going at all, Tanis finally calling them together to discuss how they were going to get to Haven.

The roads out of Solace would all be guarded, that was obvious, and the northeastern passes meant going back across the lake, something Flint was adamantly against. Finally, they decided on the west road.

"And if the Highseekers in Haven are as corrupt as those in Solace?" Sturm asked.

"Then we continue south to Qualinesti," Tanis said firmly.

Dalamar scowled. "And what makes you think they'd let me in, Half-Human?"

Tanis's expression said that he would like nothing more than to leave Dalamar behind, but whatever he was going to say interrupted by Riverwind.

"Humans are also forbidden to enter. Besides, the way is hidden-"

This time it was Raistlin who broke in, "There is a way. The paths of Darken Wood. They lead right into Qualinesti."

Dalamar rolled his eyes at how this suggestion was almost unanimously opposed, never mind that no one else had any bright ideas. In the end, Tanis broke into the row to ask the previously silent Goldmoon what she thought. It was only by her decision to head to Haven via Solace Vale that settled the argument and got everybody moving.

* * *

To get to the road leading to Haven they had first to make their way through the thick tangle of undergrowth and small trees beneath the green roof of the vallenwoods. Even with Caramon leading the way together with the axe-wielding Flint, it took them more than an hour, and by that time all of them were scratched, dirty, and tired.

Despite the welcome sight of the well-travelled road, Dalamar was not particularly eager to step out of the tree line after what had happened last night, and nor was anyone else. Eventually Tanis asked Tasslehoff to scout ahead. They waited until the kender was out of sight, and set out again.

Sturm was at the front, followed by Flint and Caramon, Tanis and the two Plainsmen came next, and Raistlin and Dalamar brought up the rear, both of them still flicking through their spellbooks.

Or at least, they were pretending to. The others tended to be nervous discussing anything within earshot of the two mages, and by appearing engrossed to anyone watching they had the chance to overhear what others might not want them to know.

At the moment, it was Goldmoon and Riverwind's story, which the woman was now recounting to Tanis.

It was interesting, Dalamar thought. Oh, not the part about the Plainsmen's doomed love, tales of doomed love were ten a copper in taverns, and the Dark elf couldn't care less. No, the parts that caught the elven mage's interest, and no doubt Raistlin's as well, were the ones that mentioned the staff she was carrying.

Riverwind been sent to find an artefact of the old gods. He had found the staff and taken it from a place he remembered in fever driven nightmares, raving about a 'broken city' and 'death on black wings'. Oddly, Dalamar noted, the staff did not function when it was presented to Goldmoon's father, despite the fact that the Plainswoman had told them that the man had been crippled years ago. Perhaps the gods did not like to be commanded, as the Kingpriest found out to his peril all those years ago. At any rate, the man had been furious and ordered Riverwind stoned. Showing typical selfless bravery, Goldmoon had rushed to the warrior's aid and with a flash of light, the staff had teleported them to just outside Solace, where Caramon and Sturm had found them.

When Tanis asked Riverwind about the broken city, the Plainsman refused to answer, changing the subject.

"Tanis Half-Elven, that is your name?"

"Among humans, that is what I am called," Tanis said, sounding puzzled. "My elven name is long and difficult to pronounce."

"Why is it, that you are called half-elf and not half-man?"

Dalamar couldn't help it, he let out a bark of laughter. Tanis looked mortified. Sending a furious scowl at the eavesdropping Dark elf, he turned back to Riverwind. "According to humans, half an elf is but part of a whole being. Half a man is a cripple."

"And you are not?" Dalamar snickered. The Half-elf was certainly missing some vital mental skills.

Tanis ignored him. There was an uncomfortable silence and Riverwind picked up his pace. Dalamar guessed that whatever the man had wanted to say he also wanted to keep quiet. The Dark elf shot a glance at Raistlin, the human mage scowled at him for being so foolish as to get himself noticed, and carefully followed Tanis and Riverwind until he was close enough to hear what they were saying.

Knowing the game was up, Dalamar put his spellbook away. He would have probably walked into a tree before long anyway.

Raistlin was not the only one to be displeased, Goldmoon looked angry that anyone had dared eavesdrop on her private conversation. The elven wizard shrugged to himself, it was entirely her problem, he'd find out what Riverwind was telling Tanis from Raistlin.

Before the Red Robe could lag back and tell him the contents of the conversation, however, Tasslehoff returned. The kender ran towards them, waving his arms in a way that clearly told all of them to get off the road.

Dalamar followed the others into a deep ditch beside the track, and walked up it until he was at Raistlin's side. "Well?"

The human mage shook his head, staring up at where Tanis was trying to persuade a stubborn Sturm that it was perfectly knightly to take refuge in a ditch. "Little more than Goldmoon let slip. A broken city of marble, now inhabited by some evil. He spoke of a woman who gave him the staff and healed him, although I don't know how reliable that information is. By his words, he was delirious."

Dalamar nodded. Tasslehoff had reached the two warriors and they could hear his panting report to Tanis: "Clerics! A party of clerics. Eight."

He also added, to Sturm's disdainful expression, that he had never seen clerics like that before and something about them fitting a description Tika had given them of people she had seen. Dalamar assumed this had been said before they had come in.

Finally, just as the so-called 'clerics' were moving into view, Sturm followed Tanis into the bushes.

The Dark elf carefully peered over the edge of the ditch. The clerics were garbed in long robes, their hoods pulled low over their faces. Behind them, they drew a large handcart and both it and their clothing was bereft of any religious symbols whatsoever.

"Clerics," Raistlin said thoughtfully. "I do not like this."

Dalamar shook his head; this was far too much of a coincidence. Tanis, however, was still incapable of grasping the obvious. "What do you mean?" he whispered. Indeed mentally crippled.

Raistlin's eyes were ice cold with distain and he spoke slowly, so as Half-Elven's small mind might understand. "Strange clerics. The staff has healing, clerical powers -such powers as have not been seen since the Cataclysm! Don't you find it odd, my _friend_" the word was drawn out, mocking and completely untrue, "that these clerics and the staff turned up at the same time, in the same place, when neither have been seen before? Perhaps this staff is truly theirs -by right."

"Of course," Dalamar added, smirking, "that doesn't mean we should be in a hurry to give it back to them. In fact, they might even provide us with some more artefacts." Artefacts, he added silently to himself, which could be used, despite the mage's protests to the opposite, to cure Raistlin. It still _hurt_, Dalamar thought, to watch his lover suffer and be completely unable to help.

Sturm looked as if he would have loved to answer to this less-than-honourable statement, but Tanis interrupted him, asking if he could get out onto the road to meet the clerics.

After that, all they had to do was waiting. The clerics, if that was what they were, moved at a snail's pace. And snails, Dalamar thought, scowling up at the threatening clouds as the first drop of rain hit his sleeve, were the only creatures that should be out in the downpour that promised to follow.

Flint grumbled as the rain began to fall in earnest, completing the gloomy atmosphere. Raistlin shivered, and Dalamar drew closer to him, hoping the tea the mage had drunk that morning would stave off a coughing fit. Clearly not. The Red Robe covered his mouth to try and stifle the noise as the Dark elf rubbed his shoulders and back gently.

The clerics were close enough to see them properly, and, like Tasslehoff, Dalamar had never seen their like. They were all very tall, and completely covered, with even their hands and feet wrapped in bandages. Only a pair of glittering eyes were to be seen in the mass of cloth.

"Hail, Knight of Solamnia," the first one hissed as they drew beside Sturm. The voice too was unlike any Dalamar had heard: Hollow, hissing, it was enough to make anyone uneasy.

"Greetings, brethren," Sturm answered easily. "I have journeyed many miles this day and you are the first travellers I have come across. I have heard strange rumours, and I seek information about the road ahead. Where do you come from?"

"We came from the east originally, but today we travel from Haven. It is a chill, bitter day for travelling, knight-"

"Too true," Flint muttered bitterly. Tanis shushed him.

"-which is perhaps why you find the road empty. We ourselves would not undertake such a journey save were not driven by necessity. We did not pass you on the road, so you must be travelling from Solace, Sir Knight."

This didn't sound good; these clerics were clearly after the staff. Dalamar's unease didn't fade when the lead cleric muttered something to his brethren in a guttural tongue the elven mage had never heard before, and neither, by the looks of it, had anyone else. This time his hold on Raistlin was not entirely for the human's benefit.

"I am curious to hear that hearsay you speak of, Knight." The cleric was speaking common again, and making no mention of what he had told his companions.

Sturm, still treading the fine line between truth and discovery, mentioned the rumours of war they had all heard. The cleric told him he had heard no such rumours and that the road ahead was clear.

Then the Solamnic asked them what had driven them into such foul weather.

"We seek a staff." Dalamar was momentarily amazed at how easily the cleric spoke, especially when he described it perfectly, then realized that since the whole of Solace had been searching for the staff, there would have been little point in keeping it a secret. Raistlin and he shared a quick glance, before looking back up to catch the rest of the conversation.

"Tell me," Sturm asked easily. "Why would you seek a blue crystal staff? Surely one of plain, sturdy wood would serve you revered gentlemen better."

The cleric's voice was grave as he described the staff's powers and their need to have it to heal one of their brothers. This, in Dalamar's opinion, was deeply untrustworthy. The risk of banditry on these roads was high, especially in these troubled times, and to risk telling anyone about an object of value, especially where they could be easily overheard, was foolish.

"Healing?" Sturm looked politely incredulous. "A sacred staff of healing would be of great value. How did you come to misplace such a rare and wonderful object?"

The cleric's vehement and angry response showed that Raistlin had been right. The staff was their by right. They told Sturm they had tracked the thief -presumably Riverwind- to his village but then lost the trail.

The import of this, however, was lost on Dalamar. The Dark elf was staring at the cleric's hands. When he had mentioned the theft, they had clenched hard in anger, and a few of the bandages had slipped off; revealing, not fingers, but hooked claws! The Silvanesti nudged Raistlin, and pointed. The human mage nodded; he'd seen it too.

"This dismal journey is but a little sacrifice for us compared to the agony our brother endures." The cleric finished his tale.

"I'm afraid I cannot help-" Sturm broke off and Dalamar swore as Goldmoon stepped out from the bushes, Riverwind at her heels.

"Goldmoon!" Tanis hissed, trying to hold her back.

"I must know," she murmured.

"Don't!" Dalamar snarled.

The clerics might not be human, but they certainly weren't deaf, and they had heard the commotion in the bushes. Caramon loudly decided that he wasn't going to be left in the ditch and jumped out also, leaving Tanis, Flint (who was holding the wriggling Tasslehoff), and the two mages behind.

"Has everyone gone mad?" Tanis swore, also starting forward.

Raistlin and Dalamar exchanged glances. They could both imagine the fight that was going to ensue. The Plainswoman might be prepared to heal the cleric (assuming he was actually hurt and this was not a trick) but she was not about to hand the staff over. The human wizard shrugged and nodded towards the road, and the two of them quietly climbed up the side of the ditch, taking care to remain out of sight behind a bush.

Goldmoon had confronted the clerics, brandishing the staff for all and sundry to see. "I am the bearer of the blue crystal staff, but we did not steal it. The staff was given to us."

Dalamar couldn't see the cleric's face behind that hood but he could imagine he was not buying the tale at all. His soft, sneering "So you say" was nothing to the contrary, nor was the grasping hand he extended to take the staff.

Goldmoon drew away, back to where Sturm, Caramon, and Riverwind stood as bodyguards. "The staff was carried out of a place of great evil." There was a warning note in her voice. "I will do what I can for your dying brother, but I will not relinquish this staff to you or anyone else until I am firmly convinced of your rightful claim to it."

"In other words, 'I'll see you in the Abyss before I will give it to you,'" Raistlin whispered. Dalamar smiled despite himself.

Close up, the clerics looked even stranger. Their robes flowed over bodies that no longer looked entirely human, and their oddly wide belts seemed to bulge in odd places. Worse, neither Caramon nor Sturm seemed to be remotely worried.

Finally, the cleric nodded. "We will be grateful for whatever aid you can give our poor brother, and then I hope you will return with us to Haven. I promise you will be convinced the staff has come into your possession wrongly."

"We'll go where we've a mind to, brother," Caramon growled. Dalamar sighed. Oh well, at least he was now paying attention.

The cleric ignored the big man, and led Goldmoon to the back of the cart to lift up the cloth covering. The Plainswoman peered in.

Everything suddenly became confusing. Goldmoon screamed, the staff flashed, and the cleric lifted a signalling horn to its lips. Raistlin and Dalamar, who had been expecting some kind of trap, used the mayhem to attack. The Red Robe once again cast the sleep spell he had used with the goblins last night, thinking to knock out the cleric. The Dark elf quickly cast the spell they had found in the Sentinel Peaks ruin. It was good, but limited, and Dalamar was unsure of how effective it would be against the mysterious cleric.

It was, however, perfectly effective against the signal horn. The thin line of magic hit the instrument, which burst into pieces before the cleric had time to sound it. The cleric himself swayed, partly from shock at having the horn explode and partly because of Raistlin's spell. However, he didn't fall.

Raistlin's eyes were wide. "Magic resistant!" he hissed in amazement.

Something, presumably one of the so-called clerics, had charged against Tanis and was trying to throttle him. Flint rushed over, bashing the half-elf's attacker over the head and knocking him over. Dalamar stared.

He had been right, the creature wasn't human, but neither was it anything else the Dark elf had ever seen. A horrible mishmash of human and reptilian features grimaced up at them, scaled skin, leathery wings, and jagged claws showing through the ripped clothes.

"By all the Gods," Raistlin breathed from beside him. "What is that?"

Dalamar shook his head, and another flash from Goldmoon's staff drew their attention. The Plainswoman was struggling against more of the creatures and one of them had attempted to grab hold of the staff. It was now doubled over, clutching its burnt hand. Sturm ran it through, then stared in mixed horror and amazement as the creature turned to stone.

"Never heard of their like in my life," Dalamar muttered vaguely, lifting his hands to cast a spell. Magical resistance was unsure protection at best, and there was no telling if it would hold. The Dark elf was willing to take the chance.

He and Raistlin had not been targeted yet, mostly because the warriors commanded far more attention. The two mages picked out their targets and quickly spoke the words of the magic.

_"Kair tangus miopiar!"_

_"Kalith karan, tobanis-kar!"_

A fan of flames burst from Raistlin's thin hands, the firelight staining his golden hands scarlet. It caught three of the reptile-men and sent them reeling. One fell when Dalamar's enchanted missiles smashed into it. The two remaining turned and charged at the mages.

The drain of casting two spells in so short a time was beginning to tell on both of them. Dalamar drew his dagger and thrust at the first creature, the blade sinking into its eye and held fast as the creature fossilized. The Dark elf cursed.

The Staff of Magius had caught the second reptile man on the side of the head, and the magic in the staff enhancing the weak blow enough to knock the creature to the ground, where it also turned to stone.

The rest of the group had swiftly dispatched many of the other creatures, and the last one was taking to its heels back the way it had come, probably to get reinforcements. Raistlin quickly began to weave a spell to bring it down, but suddenly doubled over, coughing. The spell fizzled into nothing and creature was quickly out of range.

"Quickly!" Tanis ordered as Dalamar helped Raistlin to his feet. "We have to get out of here before any more come."

The creature had not been slow in sounding the alarm. Dalamar spotted several more of the reptile men floating to the ground out of the trees on both ends of the road. They were trapped.

"Into the woods!" Tanis shouted.

Sturm was waiting for them. The knight had been injured in the fight and blood flowed freely from a head wound. He had lost his sword and didn't seem to be able to stand. Goldmoon knelt down beside him, staff in hand.

It was a few minutes before they could get going. Tasslehoff had vanished and reappeared dragging Sturm's sword and with Dalamar's dagger stuck in his belt, happily telling everyone how the reptile-man's stone body had turned to dust and he had been able to pull the weapons free. After the weapons had been returned, Tanis helped the Solamnic to his feet -he was still wounded; clearly, the staff had limits-, and the group moved off into the trees.

"We're heading south, into the woods." Tanis' tone brooked no argument, but still Caramon protested that that way led to the haunted Darken Wood.

"I know -you'd rather fight the living." Tanis looked pointedly back at where the creatures' bodies were turning to dust. "How do you feel about that now?"

There was no answer, and Tanis continued as they walked, "More of these creatures are coming from both directions. We can't fight off another assault." His eyes drifted from Sturm, still nursing his head wound, to Raistlin, who had to lean on Dalamar for support and was still coughing, to a white-faced Goldmoon. "But we won't enter Darken Wood if we don't have to. There's a game trail not far from here we can use to get to Prayer's Eye Peak. There we can see the road to the north, as well as all other directions."

There were no more arguments, and they continued walking deeper into the forest.

_Review please._

_Skull Bearer._


	5. Of Arrogance

_Red Malys- **blushes** Thanks._

_Scarlet Dragon- As I said before, I hope you're enjoying it as much as I'm enjoying writing it._

_wytchcat- But I love reviews so much! No wonder I beg._

_Scribbles Editor- I've been busy, between a new job and getting a new computer, Crepuscule has had to take a back seat to real life._

_Dalamar Nightson- The reading pretence is one I've used more than once. I'm a champion eavesdropper._

_Tsukiyo no Yume- Well, you'll be pleased to here that this is the Darken Wood chapter, or at least part of it._

_hakatri- If you haven't read chronicles I suggest you read it soon! It'll be all right for the moment, but when I get into Winter Night, the characters will be splitting up and I'm only going to cover one side of that story. Glad you like Dalamar though, he's so cool._

_Sorry for the long delay, but finally, after tears, crisis, and a new computer, here is chapter five!_

**Crepuscule**

Chapter five - Of Arrogance

_I'm alive with something inside of me  
And I don't think I'm coming back  
-Northern Soul, The Verve. _

They had been racing down the game trail, running even after they had realised that no one was giving chase, and when Tanis called the halt, no one complained.

Raistlin had been leaning more and more heavily on Dalamar's arm until the Dark elf feared the human might collapse if he let go. Sturm was bleeding from the cut just above his temple -obviously the staff had limits- and exhausted enough not to notice that the blood was matting his moustaches. Everyone else was dirty, tired, and out of breath.

The sigh of relief was unanimous as they all slumped to the ground.

"Why aren't they chasing us?" Flint gasped.

Tanis shrugged, pointing out the blindingly obvious to the obviously blind dwarf that the reptile-men had probably covered all the ways out, save, of course, Darken Wood.

"Darken Wood!" Goldmoon exclaimed fearfully.

Tanis hastened to assure her that they would not take that path unless it was absolutely necessary, they'd decide when they'd reached Prayer's Eye Peak and had a look around.

Dalamar shook his head, at the moment it seemed as if anything that could go wrong, would go wrong. Probably, everything at the same time. If the only possibility was Darken Wood, then Darken Wood it would be, if they didn't get eaten by dragon-men along the way.

The Dark elf settled back against a mossy tree trunk and blocked Half-human's gibbering from his mind, instead drawing out the pouch he had taken from one of their inhuman attackers. Turning the leather inside out, he emptied its contents into his hand.

Three steel pieces and a scrap of parchment fell out. The parchment appeared to be some kind of crude map of the area and, judging by its smell, it had once belonged to a goblin. Dalamar wrinkled his nose and tossed to parchment at Tasslehoff; if the kender liked maps, then he was welcome to this one.

The coins, on the other hand, Dalamar had no intention of giving away for any reason short of bribing someone. Pleased with the find, the elf deftly flicked one of them into the air, sunlight flashing off its engraved surface.

A slender golden hand halted it in mid-flight.

The elven mage blinked. Raistlin's hourglass eyes were narrowed as he examined the coin before handing it back to Dalamar, face up. Puzzled, the Dark elf looked at it.

The five dragon heads of Takhisis were engraved into the metal.

The two mages stared at each other. "So," Raistlin murmured. "These creatures are linked to the northern armies and are, like those searching for the staff, in their pay. Hardly a reassuring piece of knowledge."

Dalamar tried to imagine an army of the reptile-men, and shuddered.

* * *

Clearly believing that the two mages were too engrossed in their conversation to eavesdrop, Tanis and the Plainsmen had started speaking again. Dalamar leant in closer to Raistlin to encourage the illusion, while in reality they were listening with pricked ears.

"You've seen these creatures before, haven't you?"

It was more a statement than a question, but Riverwind answered anyway. "In the broken city. It all came back to me when I looked into the cart and saw that thing leering at me! At least... At least I know I'm not going insane. These horrible creatures really do exist... I had wondered sometimes."

Dalamar fought down a snort. He wished the creatures _had_ been a figment of the Plainsman's imagination; they could deal with delusions. Ruefully, the Dark elf touched the torn shoulder of his robes and the shallow cuts beneath. Delusions didn't hurt!

Besides... "If these creatures are real," he whispered to his lover, "then what about that 'Death on Black Wings' he keeps babbling about?" The Dark elf had a feeling that they would all be better off not knowing the answer to that particular question.

"I can imagine," Tanis had answered the Plainsman's words after a long pause. "So these creatures are spreading all over Krynn, unless your broken city was near here."

"No, I came into Que-shu out of the east. It was far from Solace, beyond the plains of my homeland."

"So, the army has reached the east as well as the south," Dalamar murmured.

"Either that or emissaries have been sent from one to the other. Either way, it makes for a poor lookout," Raistlin whispered back.

The Dark elf nodded, the image of the massed army flickering into his mind again.

He was so deep in thought that he almost missed Raistlin's retort to Riverwind's exclamation of how strange everything was.

"It's going to get stranger."

* * *

This was the first time Dalamar had seen Prayer's Eye Peak this close; previously he'd not been nearer to it than Crystalmir Lake. He was, however, as familiar with it as one can get at a distance, and knew of the split peak that gave the mountain its name.

The rain had stopped but the chill hung heaving in the air, the wood completely silent save for their footsteps on the well-worn picnic trails. It was deeply unnerving.

When Sturm's voice broke the silence in a loud "Stop!" the elf almost jumped out of his skin. He had started to recall a spell before Raistlin had put a hand on his shoulder and reassured him that nothing was amiss.

Save, apparently, the knight's sanity. But that was old news.

Sturm was staring over to the right, directly at the wall of trees. Dalamar followed his gaze and saw nothing: No sign of anyone or anything, not even the subtle waving of branches showing where someone had ducked out of sight. Yet the knight's gaze was fixed of a single spot, a spot which, to the Dark elf, looked the same as any other.

For once, Tanis had grasped the obvious -that his friend was clearly suffering from some kind of hallucination- and offered to let the knight rest while he scouted up ahead.

"No! Look!" Sturm forced the Half-elf to look at where he was pointing. "See it? The White Stag!"

Dalamar looked again. Still nothing. Clearly, the staff didn't heal mental injuries, but then he shouldn't be surprised, it hadn't done anything for Caramon's senses either.

Tanis couldn't see it either, and told Sturm as much. The knight seemed to be barely listening, only lifting a hand to point at the waving branched of an oak.

"There. He wants us to follow him," the knight exclaimed, "Like Huma!"

Great, delusions of grandeur on top of everything else. Just what they needed.

The elven mage wasn't the only one feeling sceptical about this new development. He caught Raistlin's eye and shook his head -the knight had finally gone off the deep end. Riverwind too had his doubts, muttering "I see no stag of any colour", to Goldmoon.

Dalamar glanced over at Raistlin, other mage was looking unusually pensive. Surely, he didn't actually _believe_ the delusional idiot, did he?

Caramon certainly didn't. He was nodding his head like a charlatan cleric and trying to get Sturm to sit down; "Head wound. C'mon Sturm, lie down and rest-"

Not that Sturm was happy about having this pointed out. "You great blithering idiot!" he snarled. "With your brains in your stomach, it's just as well you do not see the stag. You would probably shoot it and cook it! I tell you this -we must follow it!"

Riverwind was obviously unhappy about following something which he couldn't see and which probably did not exist, and like practically everyone else in this little band, he turn to the only person with half a brain.

Although the Plainsman and the Half elf were only speaking in whispers, Dalamar's ears were keen enough to pick up their conversation.

"The madness of the head wound, I have seen it often"

Dalamar frowned, distracted by what Tanis was doing. The Half-elf's hand had gone to a thin strip of gold around a finger on his left hand, a wedding band? Dalamar blinked, wondering who had the abject stupidity to want to be tied to this self-pitying fool. The most obvious answer was Kitiara, but... no. What he knew of Kitiara -mercifully little- told him that Raistlin's half-sister would not agree to be tied down to anyone. What was more, the ring, now he looked more closely, was carved with tiny ivy leaves.

Elven then, and clearly someone that Half-elven still thought about, if he'd kept the ring. Amused, Dalamar wondered if he'd kept the ring on when he had been confession eternal love to Kitiara. Probably.

The two seemed to realise they were being observes and spun around, Dalamar filed what he had learnt away for later use and quickly turned to Raistlin. He hoped the two hadn't noticed him.

The human mage's eyes were narrowed in thought, still mulling over Sturm's hallunciantion. And when Caramon blurted out his astonishment at following an animal they couldn't see, his response was waspish.

"It would not be the strangest thing we had done, though, remember," he turned to Tanis, "that it was the old man who told the tale of the white stag and the old man who got us into this-"

Dalamar was impressed, he wondered how much of Tanis and Riverwind's conversation the perceptive mage had picked up. It would definitely be worth discussing.

Still, they had more pressing problems, Raistlin seemed to be convinced that the stag was not a delusion and even Goldmoon agreed that even if the stag wasn't real, it was at least leading them away from possible pursuit. Sharing a long glance with the human mage, Dalamar wondered if he might have been wrong in dismissing the white stag as a fantasy brought on by a head wound and far too much dreaming.

And, the Dark elf privately thought later, that wouldn't be the first thing he was wrong about something. He had certainly been wrong in thinking delusions couldn't hurt them, or at least lead to pain. They had started off through the thick woods, leaving the trails behind in favour of the brush. Sturm was leading them deeper into wild tangles of trees and one of the branches had just whacked the Dark elf heavily below his shoulder. He'd have a bruise there come morning.

If they lived to see the morning. Sturm was crashing through the undergrowth like a lunatic and leaving a trail a blind gully dwarf -and even Caramon- could follow. The reptile-men, he suspected, would be far more skilled.

Any snide remarks he was about to make were swallowed by sheer shock when they broke out of the tree onto a smooth, wide trail.

Dalamar tried to think of which one it might have been and drew a blank. It was well known that there _were_ no trails on this side of the mountain.

The others were similarly amazed. The trail was old, of that there was no doubt, yet it was no overgrown, despite the fact that there were no signs of any other tracks than their own. There was no grass growing on the track, no signs of animal prints- nor any trace of the stag's, Dalamar reminded himself- even the tree branches didn't grow low enough to force any of them to duck.

Up and up they went, following a frantic Sturm, heading for the narrow gap between the 'hands' of stone. Raistlin was once again having to lag behind due to exhaustion, and Dalamar started back to help him. He was very glad when Tanis called at the knight to stop and rest for a minute. The Half-elf wanted to go and have a look ahead, see if anything was following them. Riverwind went with him.

Knowing that for once he would be unable to eavesdrop, the Dark elf sat down next to his lover. Then, impulsively, he pulled the slender mage into his arms. If they were going to be carved up by reptile-men, then he wanted to enjoy the time he had as much as possible. Raistlin didn't object, but instead settled back with a sigh, nuzzling Dalamar's shoulder and clasping his hands over the Dark elf's.

Oh, it felt good. He was tired, and who knew when Half-Elven would be back from his little trip up the mountain.

A golden hand smoothed the knotted tangles of his black hair. In the rush of the last two days -had it only been that?- he hadn't had time to brush it, even had he been able to find a hairbrush. Raistlin twisted in his arms and kissed him, a sweet touch, and Dalamar happily melted into it, his hands slipping under the collar of the young mage's red robes. His heart beat faster as Raistlin opened his mouth to Dalamar's, and the Dark elf wished they were alone. The warm, soft skin under his hands was so tempting and it had been a long time since they'd been able to indulge themselves in each other.

Unfortunately, Tanis chose that moment to come back, and Dalamar drew away, albeit reluctantly. Raistlin frowned, equally disappointed.

"It's just as well we left the trail," the Half-elf panted, hardly sparing a glance at the two mages. "The trails are swarming with those creatures. We'd have been ambushed."

Dalamar lifted an eyebrow. "Well then, why are we waiting here? We should move on as quickly as possible before they find this trail."

Tanis looked uncomfortable, mumbling something about vanishing paths before changing the subject. "What's more, Riverwind and I saw evidence of campfires to the north. Hundreds of campfires, enough for an army."

The picture of an army made up of reptile-men made a third appearance behind Dalamar's eyes.

"So the rumours are confirmed," Sturm muttered. "There _is_ an army in the north."

"But what army? Whose? And why?" Caramon wondered aloud. "What are they going to attack-"

"What do you do with an army?" Raistlin interrupted, hissing. "You _invade, dear_ brother."

"But no one would send an army after this staff," Caramon snorted. Then, under fire from Raistlin and Dalamar's cold glares- "Would they?"

"The staff is but a part of this." Raistlin murmured. "Remember the fallen stars."

"Children's stories!" Flint grumbled.

"Children's stories do not tear the stars from the sky, Dwarf," Dalamar snarled. Why was it that only he and Raistlin had the sense to understand what this_ meant?_ The only ones with the power to move the stars were the gods, who _were_ the stars. Throw in a long-lost staff brimming with mysterious clerical powers, and you had more than enough to worry about.

The argument was settled by Sturm, who once again shouted that the stag had appeared -apparently mistaking it for a large boulder-, and the chase was on again.

* * *

It was midday by the time they reached the cleft in the peak, and by that time a fresh breeze had sprung up, blowing away the clouds and letting the sun warm them.

The climb was easier now, Sturm had slowed to a walk and let them proceed at a more leisurely pace. Of course, that just mean the others had enough breath to grumble.

First Caramon and Flint struck up a conversation about the lack of food, which only served to remind Dalamar that they hadn't eaten since that morning. Then, when they stumbled through the narrow pass, steep cliffs of rock rising high above them, Flint kept up a continuous commentary of complaints: The sun was too hot, the wind too cold, he was hungry, it would soon rain again; on and on until the Dark elf wanted to throw him off the mountainside out of sheer irritation.

What was more, the land ahead of them was no more welcoming than the one they had left; the grassy valley they were entering led to a grim aspen forest that crouched on the edge of the meadow like a predator waiting to strike. Dalamar was entirely unsurprised when Raistlin pointed out that this was Darken Wood. It certainly looked the part. His skin crawled when he looked at it, the gnarled trees looking almost as if they were standing guard.

Oddly, the others didn't seem to be so bothered. Tasslehoff even pointed out that it "Didn't look bad at all."

"Looks are a deceptive as a light fingered kender," the Red Robe snarled to himself, before turning to the elven mage. "What do you think?"

The Dark elf looked back to the forest and fought down a shudder. "I think the kender also took a blow to the head. I have never seen a forest so menacing."

Raistlin looked as though he was about to say something, then shook his head, looking oddly worried.

Tanis was speaking to Sturm. They were making no effort to keep their voices down and it would have been almost impossible _not_ to overhear.

"Sturm, can you see the stag? Do you see it now?"

"Yes," The knight pointed downwards to a patch of waving grass, "It walked across the meadow; I can see it's trail in the tall grass. It has gone into the aspens there."

_Surprise, surprise._

"Gone into Darken Wood." Half-elven murmured.

Sturm looked astonished, and Dalamar blinked, surely even the knight could feel the danger that flowed off the range of trees?

"Who says that is Darken Wood?"

"Raistlin."

Sturm's snort of derision and his claim that Raistlin was "Crazed" irked Dalamar.

"And this coming from a man following an invisible deer. I would be careful before I handed out opinions on sanity, Brightblade." He snapped.

Sturm's eyes were narrowed in hatred. "Can't you hold your tongue and stay out of other people's business, Dark elf? This stag led us away from those creatures. I will follow the stag -as did Huma-, even if it leads me into Darken Wood." He started down the mountainside.

Dalamar had no answer, and contented himself with scowling at a smirking Half-Elven and following him as he walked over to Raistlin. "How certain are you that this forest is Darken Wood, Raistlin?" Tanis asked.

Raistlin shrugged, and the elven mage recognised the signs of when his lover was going to be especially unhelpful. "How certain are we of anything, Half-Elven? I am not certain of drawing my next breath." Dalamar winced. "But go ahead. Walk into the wood no living man has ever walked out of. Death is life's great certainty."

This time, it was Dalamar's turn to smile at Tanis's frown. The Half-elf looked as though he'd like nothing better than to throw the two of _them_ off the mountainside.

Finally, he spoke shortly: "I'm going with Sturm, but I'll be responsible to no one else in this decision. The rest of you may follow if you choose."

"All well and good," Dalamar told Tanis coldly as they started down. "But what choice is that meant to be? Caramon will follow you like a sheep into the slaughterhouse, as will the dwarf. The kender will, of course, come and the Plainsmen will not want to be left alone with us. What else are we meant to do? Stay on the mountainside until the reptile-men cut us down?"

The Half-elf looked as if he'd wish they would do just that, but Raistlin spoke before he could: "You have led us this far -there can be no turning back. It is the Ogre's Choice you offer us- Die fast or die slow."

Tanis had no answer, looking angry both with them and with himself. What could he say? They were right.

* * *

It was getting dark by the time they reached the forest, which looked even more foreboding and hostile in the dim light. Dalamar would have liked nothing better than to grab Raistlin and run as far away from this forbidding place as he could. Even from here, he could feel the magic hanging over the forest like storm clouds ready to break.

Yet somehow, none of the others seemed to notice the forest's appearance or its grim atmosphere. In fact, when the reached it, they found Strum resting comfortably under the branches of a particularly malevolent looking oak. Was it possible that they just weren't seeing the same thing? No one could be so blind as to disregard the blatant feeling of danger that came from the forest. Caramon was even talking of perhaps catching some game for supper. The idea of eating anything from this twisted place was enough to kill any appetite Dalamar had, and he was entirely in agreement with Raistlin's next words.

"Shoot nothing. Eat nothing. Drink nothing in Darken Wood," he hissed. The Dark elf was relieved that he was also looking unnerved; he was beginning to think that _he_ was the one who's brains had been addled.

Raistlin's tone had sobered everyone, and despite Flint's snort _-"Children's stories!"-_ Tanis turned to the Red Robe. "What do you sense?"

"A great and powerful magic has been laid on this wood." Raistlin spoke quietly, thoughtfully.

"Evil?"

"Only..." the human hesitated, and Dalamar thought he saw a flicker of something like fear in the mage's hourglass eyes as they briefly darted his way. "Only to those who bring evil in with them.

"Then you are the only ones who need fear this forest." Sturm's voice was cold.

Dalamar was gripped with an overwhelming urge to take the knight's sword and impale the pompous Solamnic on it, if only to shut him up. He rubbed his eyes and forced the anger away. He must be getting tired if Sturm's jabs were getting to him. The forest wasn't helping either.

Raistlin didn't respond to Sturm's taunt either. When they got going, he hung behind, motioning to the Dark elf to join him. "You should leave."

Dalamar choked. "You know very well I'm not leaving without you. Besides, what would I leave for? We told Tanis the choice he gave us was no choice at all, what changed your mind?"

Raistlin sighed. "I know, but this place... They-" he pointed at the group in front of them- "see a normal wood, perhaps even more than that; they see a pleasant wood. I see a dark and forbidding place. I can only shudder at the thought of what you are seeing." He stared off into the boughs of a tree that -to Dalamar at least- appeared so twisted it seemed about to fall and crush anyone on the path, it's branches reaching out over the path to catch at their clothing.

The elven mage nodded, then the meaning of what his human companion had said sunk in. "You... you can... _see_ this place? Your eyes..."

Raistlin smiled grimly. "Yes, this place is not affected by my curse. I told Half-Elven the enchantment was powerful, and I meant it." Again, he looked conflicted. Then: "Dalamar, you are _in danger_. This place... I said it was only dangerous to those who bring evil with them-"

The elf cut him off, "Raistlin, we'll be in danger no matter where we go. This is a danger of enchantment and magic, what we're best at. I would rather be in here and in danger-" He dropped his voice, "Than out there at the mercy of those creatures."

The Red Robe shook his head helplessly, reaching out to touch Dalamar's arm. "I know. It's no choice at all. Just please be careful. We have best be on our guard, no matter what they think." He jerked his hand towards the rest of the companions.

Dalamar nodded grimly, thinking that there was no chance in the Abyss he was letting his guard down in a place like this.

They walked on, watching the woods.

In the hollows of a thousand trunks, unseen eyes watched them back.

* * *

As they walked, the wood only grew gloomier, some of the trees were bare, even though autumn had only just arrived, and stood like dry skeletons beside the path. Nothing moved, even when the wind blew. Nothing stirred, not even a bird or insect. The hostile feeling seemed to increase as they drew deeper. Dalamar shivered, and hung back beside Raistlin. _Go back! S_omething inside was screaming _You are not welcome here!_

And yet, everyone save himself and Raistlin seemed to be oblivious, Tanis even hung back to ask Raistlin if he was _sure_ this was Darken Wood, according to Tasslehoff's map, the wood was probably further south.

Raistlin said nothing, and Dalamar didn't trust himself to speak, so they ignored Tanis and walked on in silence.

It was hard to reconcile his jesting words eariler with the twisted reality of Darken Wood, but Dalamar knew that, however terrible this place might be, it was better off to be talking their chances in here, than be out there with the reptile-men and have no chance at all.

It was growing dark, that time when everything appeared to have been leeched of its colour until it resembled a surreal charcoal sketch, and shapes became vague and indistinct. The path seemed to have shrunk to a thin ribbon in the half light and the trees looked as if they were closing in on them, their long branches like the bones of the dead.

The path had led them to a large clearing. A barren expanse of knotted grass stretched to the left of the trail, surrounded on all sides by gnarled and twisted trees looking for all the world like grim besiegers. A weed-choked trickle wound its way out from a deep hollow around sharp rocks to form a small stream.

Dalamar could only guess what the others saw as they beheld the glade, but they seemed eager to enter it and looked annoyed when the human mage warned them against leaving the path.

Tanis sighed and spoke shortly, "Raistlin, the path is in plain sight. Anyway, I told you, I don't think this is Darken Wood. Look at the map-"

The Red Robe ignored the map and the Half-elf threw up his hands. "Fine! Stay there all night, but don't expect us to join you."

"You are all fools," Raistlin murmured. "This is Darken Wood, as you will see before the night has ended. It is true, I need rest, but I will not leave the path." With that, the young mage sat down on the trail.

Dalamar walked up and sat beside him. "No power on Krynn would have me leave the path, night _or_ day."

Raistlin's controlled mask slipped, and the Dark elf was stunned to see how the human looked... almost... _scared_. "Don't, please. You _are_ in danger Dalamar, and believe me that if I could keep walking through the night I would. We won't be safe until we're out of this place, and the sooner the better."

The others seemed to be slightly amused at Raistlin's actions, and Caramon came over to talk to them, much to their distaste. "Raist, don't let that elf spook you, there's nothing to be scared of. Join us, Tas has gone for wood, and maybe I can shoot a rabbit-"

Raistlin's voice was shockingly loud. "_Shoot_ nothing! _Harm_ nothing in Darken Wood! Neither plant nor tree, bird or animal."

Surprisingly, Tanis agreed, although Flint grumbled that elves never wanted to kill, period. "Well," the Dwarf added with a wary look at Dalamar. "_Most_ elves."

Tasslehoff returned with some firewood, which he assured Raistlin he had only picked up off the ground, but no one could make the fire light. Eventually, the Red Robe stuck his staff into the ground and spoke the command word- "_Shirak_."

Somehow, this only made the forest even more terrifying; the magical light flickered on the grotesque warps in the trees, teasingly flickering over the darkness and only served to emphasise the feeling of malevolence. Dalamar slid closer to Raistlin, drawing comfort from the mage's warm body against his own. Even with the memory of the reptile-men fresh in his mind, he wondered if coming here might be a mistake, at least they could fight those monsters, but here...

"You seem to sense this place better that me," he said softly against Raistlin's hair. "What would happen if one of us harmed something from the wood?"

The young mage shuddered. "I understand this place better that you because I am not as... overwhelmed as the others or yourself. This forest welcomes those of good and is hostile to those of a... darker leaning. I, as neither, can see this place more clearly for what it is. As to your question... I don't know, but I hope we never find out."

They stayed together as the others organised watches. Dalamar couldn't image going to sleep, no matter how tired he felt.

It was only later that he guessed Half-Elven had been the one to break Raistlin's warning, by going down to the brook and drinking from it. As it was, he only knew that one moment the group had been alone in the glade, and the next they were surrounded.

Dalamar's blood froze in his veins and, in some distant, still-coherent place in his mind, he thought how fitting it was that such a terrible place should have such as its guardians.

They were dead.

Standing at the edge of the clearing, completely surrounding them were warriors in ancient armor. They were translucent, and Dalamar could see the boughs of the forests through their ornate plate mail and the skulls beneath their helms. Fleeting corpse-light that outlined their bodies, shimmering over dreadful remembered wounds and even more dreadfully remembered blades.

He didn't remember standing up. Whether it had been meant as a futile gesture to protect Raistlin or to an even more futile attempt to flee, he didn't know. From somewhere behind him, he heard the Red Robed mage order him to get down, his voice sharp with fear, to get behind him, that no weapons or magic they possessed could hurt these creatures.

As one, the undead turned their shattered, skull-like faces towards Dalamar. As one, they drew their swords. As one, they advanced.

The Dark elf paled. He stepped backwards, off the path, and into a looming yew tree.

Back pressed against the trunk, he stared back at the undead, eyes wide with terror.

Raistlin was still on the path, his robes looking like pooled blood in the light of his staff. He got and started towards Dalamar, staff held out in front of him. However, Caramon gave a cry and rushed up, grabbed his brother around the waist from behind and pulled him away, ignoring the mage's howl of rage as he tried to pull himself free.

The undead were closer now, close enough that the elven wizard could feel the freezing cold of the grave that clung to them, and the terrible, cold white lights shining in the sockets of their dead faces. _'Only evil to those who bring evil in with them'_. The words sang in Dalamar's head.

Raistlin swung the Staff of Magius into his brother's face, the lit crystal slamming into the big man's thick skull, stunning him long enough for the mage to free himself. He moved to stand beside Dalamar, his face pale under the golden sheen, his eyes wide with fear.

Somewhere at the back of his mind, the elven mage was struggling to think of something -anything- that could get him out. Raistlin's voice came back again, mockingly -_'only dangerous to those who bring evil with them'_- and his own arrogant reply: _'This is a danger of enchantment and magic, what we're best at.'_

Fool, fool, _fool_. He had been so foolish, so arrogant to think that he could run such a danger and live. But he had, and it would cost him his life.

_Their_ lives.

"Get behind me." Raistlin's voice was low, commanding.

The words snapped the Dark elf from his shock. "No, Raistlin-"

"Get _behind_ me!" The dead warriors were yet closer. The closest, one taller that the others and wearing a shimmering crown, tilted its blade towards Dalamar's chest.

It was only at that moment that the elf realised that throughout this, the undead had been utterly silent; they had made no noise on the grass, or in drawing their blades. If anything, it made them all the more terrifying, that nothing that he could say would make the least difference.

"Get behind me! They will not attack me." Raistlin's voice had risen to a shriek.

Finally, guessing that Dalamar was either unable or unwilling to move of his own accord, he grabbed his lover and shoved him behind him.

The leader halted. Silently, it made a gesture; _Step aside_.

Raistlin shook his head, brandishing his staff as a weapon. "You will not harm me, and I will not let you harm him."

Dalamar's heart stopped as, almost regretfully, the leader of the undead stretched a skeletal hand out towards the young mage.

It didn't touch him. It didn't have to, something about the proximity triggered a terrible coughing fit. Raistlin doubled over, hacking and choking until blood flowed from his mouth.

Dalamar, who had bent down over his fallen lover, now straightened. It was only just sinking in that he was going to _die_. He could expect no assistance from anyone else in the group, and Raistlin was unable to help himself.

He was helpless against the dead.

The leader didn't use its sword; merely the touch of one of the corpse-light hands was enough to promise death. The Dark elf felt dizzy. He couldn't seem to breathe. Couldn't seem to think. Couldn't seem to do anything but watch that terrible, grave-cold claw coming to take his life away. The skeletal bones were inches away from his face, and he couldn't move, couldn't run, couldn't even look away.

Then, from the clearing, came a blinding flash.

It was so bright and dazzling thatat first it was impossible for Dalamar to see what colour it was. It seemed to turn the whole forest white and the aftershocks were a blaze of blue.

_Blue_.

The staff.

Goldmoon held the staff high, but she was clearly not the one who had commanded it ablaze.

Dalamar threw up his arm the shield his eyes from the glare. When he lowered it, the undead had retreated back to the edges of the clearing, their ghostly swords were sheathed, and he and Raistlin were alone.

The silence was deafening.

_Please review_

_Skull Bearer._


	6. Of Rejection

_Red Malys- Thanks._

_Dalamar Nightson- Next chapter present and accounted for, SAH!_

_wytchcat- Dalamar does make everything a little more interesting, doesn't he?_

_MistressSerenity- Raist/Dal 4ever indeed._

_Tsukiyo no Yume- It was hard to write, and only the skill of my beta kept it from drifting off._

**Crepuscule**

Chapter six- Of Rejection

_So come on come in inside of me  
Let's spread it all around  
-Northern Soul, the Verve_

Shoulders still shaking from the spasms, Raistlin struggled to his feet. He was clutching the Staff of Magius so hard his knuckles were white. Swaying slightly and fighting to draw breath, he started towards the massed ranks of the undead.

Wordlessly, beyond speech, Dalamar reached out to stop him.

"Stay back!" The human mage's hacking snarl was frighteningly loud in the still clearing. To the rest of the group, still standing stunned, he must have looked bizarrely calm, but Dalamar had been around Raistlin long enough to know when his lover was truly afraid.

Still, it was only when the young Red Robe looked back swiftly to check if he was all right that Dalamar knew just how scared he really was.

The Dark elf made no such attempt of appearance; he was breathing far too fast and at that moment his knees suddenly gave way and he fell to the ground. It was all he could do not to pass out. He was certain that if the undead didn't kill Raistlin, the mage's coughing would. Dalamar tried again to get up and stop him, but he was barely able to stay conscious and just fell back down, gasping for breath as the world spun around him. He was shaking uncontrollably.

"Raist!" Dalamar pressed his forehead to the cool ground, Caramon's yell cutting through his dazed mind like nails on slate.

"Stay back." Raistlin might have been able to manipulate his expression to look impassive, but his voice betrayed him.

"Come back, you idiot," Dalamar whispered into the damp grass, unable to make his voice any louder.

"What are you going to do?" That was Tanis.

"Stay back!"

Flat on the grass, Dalamar raised his head and watched, horrified, as Raistlin continued to approach the undead leader, the same one that had nearly ripped the Dark elf's life away only a few moments ago.

Dalamar knew he wasn't the only one to see Raistlin's hands shake as he whispered the words to the spell._ "Ast bilak parbilakir, suh tangus moipiar"_

The Dark elf shuddered. Bad enough being anywhere near these undead, but to actually _speak_ to them...

The leader of the undead warriors appeared to regard Raistlin for a few minutes, spirit lights edging its empty eye sockets. Then it stretched out a hand to touch the young mage.

Dalamar could have sworn a moment ago he couldn't speak above a whisper, but the clearing rang with his scream- "Raistlin!"

Lost in the magic, the young wizard didn't seem to hear him. "You who have been long dead, use my living voice to tell of your bitter sorrow." Raistlin might have been oblivious to Dalamar's cry, but he was clearly not oblivious of the danger he was in; his trembling hands were clenched and his voice was tight. "Then give us leave to pass through this forest, for our purpose is _not_ evil, as you will see if you read our hearts." This last sentence was spoken a bit too fast.

Dalamar didn't think he had ever seen Raistlin so afraid. But then, he probably didn't look much better. He had never felt so terrified either.

The spectre's hand stopped moving. It paused again, and then Raistlin spoke, but the voice was not the one the Dark elf knew, nor any he would care to hear again.

Nothing could have prepared Dalamar, or indeed any of them, for the voice of the dead commander. It was deep and seemed to echo, as if coming from an open grave. The words chilled the air. "Who are you that have brought the Blue Crystal Staff to Darken Wood?"

The elven mage looked up through the tree branches, quietly praying to Nuitari that the dead were _not_ after the staff, but there was no sign of the black moon in the sky. Somehow, he was unsurprised; this was no place for the Gods of Darkness.

He wouldn't hang around here either.

Tasslehoff darted forward. Flint recovered from his shock long enough to make a grab for his topknot but missed, and the kender dodged away and hurried towards the undead.

"I am Tasslehoff Burrfoot, but my friends call me Tas. Who are you?"

Oh well, Dalamar thought, it might as well be the kender as anyone else, at least he wouldn't suggest that the undead finished the two of them off.

The spectres were clearly not in the mood to talk. "We are warriors, pledged to guard this land from evil. Tell us, why do you plead innocent intent when you bring evil into our land?"

Tasslehoff glanced back at the Dark elf, still sprawled under the yew tree. "Oh, him? He's evil, or at least, I _think_ he is, because he wears black robes. But Raistlin's been pretty nasty too, he set fire to my topknot once, and Flint's beard, and Sturm moustaches, but they've grown back now..."

The undead ignored the prattling of the kender and turned their sightless eyes on Dalamar. Their hollow, empty voices ripped through the Red Robe's throat. "The Goddess has deemed that you may pass, this once. But should you return, Dark One, we will make sure our task is finished." Then the spectres hand closed around Raistlin's arm.

Dalamar could never remember what he screamed in that horrible, heart-stopping moment. Neither did he ever know how he managed to cross the clearing. He knew only that the thought that he was going to lose Raistlin forever rose up and swallowed the world and blocked everything else in its terrible, crushing misery.

When he came back to himself, he was kneeling on the ground with both arms wrapped around Raistlin's thin waist, his face buried in those red robes and a golden hand was gently stroking his hair.

"Shh... It's alright... I'm fine..." the human wizard was whispering softly in his own voice, his other arm still caught in the spectre's ghostly grasp. "We have to go now... We've been summoned... We must go..."

Hands still knotted in his lover's robes, Dalamar looked up, only now conscious of the tears blurring his sight. Raistlin's face was transfixed in the ecstasy of the magic and his golden skin seemed almost to glow with power, barely containing the energy that coursed through the young mage's veins like blood.

The dead leader turned, pulling the Red Robe out of the elf's hands, and stepped into the forest, the undead parting to let them pass.

Dazed, bewildered, and frankly scared out of his wits, the Dark elf staggered to his feet. He had no idea what was happening, but he'd been damned if he let any undead take Raistlin from him.

Behind him, he could hear the companions talking, but whether to him or to each other he didn't know. Neither did he care.

Summoning strength from somewhere, Dalamar stepped forward into the pitch darkness of Darken Wood. He found himself stumbling forward, the crashing shrieks of long-ago battles ringing in his ears from the long-dead minds of its victims. Instinctively, the Dark elf raised a hand to fend off the blows he was sure were going to fall, and finally half ran, half fell though the haze and into a blasted, barren glade.

The dead were gone.

Raistlin stood silently in the centre of the clearing, and even as Dalamar watched, the exhaustion of casting caught up with him and the Red Robe's legs gave way.

The Dark elf caught him just in time to stop the young wizard cracking his skull on a stone. Behind him, he could hear the others blundering through the trees, but he ignored them, clutching Raistlin tightly. He couldn't stop shaking and he was probably holding Raistlin too tightly, but he didn't notice, his face buried in his lover's white hair and thanking Nuitari he was alive.

Slowly, the human mage's thin arms wound around him in turn and Raistlin's golden eyes opened again.

Dalamar thought he had never seen anything more beautiful.

"Are you alright?" The voice was a cracked whisper.

Somehow, Dalamar felt his lips twitch into a shaky smile. "You were the one they touched, worry about yourself first."

Raistlin shook his head, smiling slightly and rested his head against the elf's chest. "They meant me no harm, and their touch only kills it they wish it. You... They wanted you dead."

Black clad arms tightened around the thin wizard. "Yes." Dalamar's voice was taut. "And you were right, we should never have set foot in this place. Nuitari's dark! We were nearly killed!"

The younger mage's eyes drifted close. "Are they gone now?"

This time the Dark elf couldn't help but smile. "Yes, they're gone, you can rest."

The red robed mage closed his eyes with a sigh, and his breathing eased into sleep.

"But not here." The booming voice rang out from to their right. Dalamar's head snapped around so fast his black hair lashed Raistlin's face.

Solinari had reappeared, although there was still no sign of the other two moons, and its faint light lit up the face of the man who had spoken.

No, not a man, Dalamar could see that now. There was enough light for his elven eyes to pick out the horse's body. "A centaur," he whispered, amazed.

"Indeed, Dark elf. And this is a sorry time that we had to allow one such as thou into our forest." The centaur stepped out and the moonlight flickered off the sharp point of the spear he was carrying. "Put thy puny weapons down, ye be surrounded and have not a chance."

Dalamar grimaced; it would be a pretty turn of affairs if they escaped the dead only to die at the hands of these creatures, the Dark elf had no doubt that the centaur was telling the truth, and as to assuage any doubts they might have had, the rest of the herd trotted out of the woods.

Dalamar drew Raistlin closer.

Tanis sheathed his sword.

Flint sneezed.

"Thee must come with us," the lead centaur ordered imperiously.

"My brother is unconscious." For the first time, the Dark elf was glad for Caramon's protectiveness; he had a feeling the centaurs would not have believed him had he spoken. "He can't go anywhere."

"Place him upon my back," was the cool answer, the centaur's dark eyes flickered over the two mages in distaste. "In fact, if any of you be tired, thee may ride where we go."

Dalamar got up, half carrying the unconscious mage, but he hadn't come more than a few steps towards the centaur before the butt of a spear knocked him to the ground. Raistlin fell and Caramon caught him.

The centaur advanced on the Dark elf. "Thou will not touch me. Thy has not the right." The dark eyes narrowed, distaste turning to loathing.

Dalamar got to his feet. The blow had knocked the air from his lungs, and his grey eyes were slits. "Unless you have failed notice, my _lover_," he drew out the word, watching Caramon squirm, "is unable to ride. Someone will have to stay with him to make sure he doesn't fall off."

"And someone will." The centaur's voice sounded amused as he turned to Caramon. "Climb up. I can bear the weight of both thee and thy brother will need thy support."

And leaving the enraged Dark elf behind, the centaur and the delighted Caramon rode away, Raistlin slumped against the centaur's back with Caramon's arm around his waist.

Dalamar ground his fists into his eyes. He was filled with the kind of impotent rage he had not felt since he had been exiled, longing to lash out, but knowing that the first blow would be his last. Here, like in Silvanesti, they were longing for the excuse to do away with him, and he could not give them that.

The others copied Caramon and clambered on the centaur's broad backs. Dalamar didn't even try. He'd walk all night if he had to rather than abase himself to rely on such creatures. Besides, they'd probably just hit him again.

A few of the companions shot him amused looks as the centaurs galloped off down the trail, leaving him alone.

The mixture of fury and the crushing weight of the emotions of the last few hours was enough to make Dalamar force back tears of anger. The trail in front of him was as black as night, and even his elvensight couldn't help him. His chest ached abominably.

The elven mage looked up at the night sky. The constellations blazed above him and Solinari shone down, but there were only blank holes where the other two moons would otherwise be. Fixing his gaze on the space where he knew Nuitari had risen, he whispered a short prayer. He needed help. "Nuitari, Dark Son, aid me. Guide me through this darkness not of your making. Guide me through this forest of fools and weaklings."

Nothing happened, but the Dark elf was sure he was seen a brief flash of the dark light of his patron's moon. Clenching his fists, Dalamar walked into the pitch darkness of the wood.

He didn't know how long he walked, he couldn't see the path, could barely see his own hands, and time lost its meaning in such blackness. But somehow, whether through Nuitari's blessing or because whoever owned the wood didn't want him to get lost, he finally found the others.

In fact, he nearly walked into them. There was no more light here than anywhere else, and he almost tripped over Flint.

"Ow!" the dwarf growled. "Who was that?"

"Who do you think?" Dalamar snarled back. "Had a nice ride?"

"Oh, great." Half-human's voice, sounding irritated. "Well, I suppose that means we're all here. Weaponless, but all here."

"Weaponless?" Dalamar groped at his boot. Sure enough, the dagger he kept there was gone.

"I have my staff," Goldmoon offered.

And a lot of good that will do, the Dark elf snarled to himself. It's far more likely to heal anything you try and hit with it. Yet if I were to try and touch it, it would take my hand off. Justice.

However, the voice that spoke was not his sharp tone, but a deep voice that seemed to come from everywhere at once. "And a formidable weapon that is, daughter of Que-shu, a weapon for good, intended to combat illness and injure and disease."

"But only for those you like," Dalamar muttered. He was cold, tired, and scared, and he didn't give a damn if anyone heard him.

"Silence!" The voice whip-lashed through the darkness, and the Dark elf felt a crack of pain across his back, as if someone had struck him with an iron rod. He doubled over, trying to breath. "You are here only on the volition of the Goddess, Dark elf. Be thankful you were spared, for you would have been slain by the Guardians."

There was a moment's silence, broken only Dalamar's gasps. Whatever it was had winded him badly, and sparks danced in front of his eyes.

"Who are you?" Tanis' voice was unsure.

"We won't harm you," Caramon reassured.

Speak for yourself, Dalamar thought, eyes glittering in the dim light. He was completely prepared to throttle the speaker for putting Raistlin and himself through the complete hell the last few hours had been.

"Of course you won't." The voice was amused. "You have no weapons. I will return them when the time is propitious."

In other words, never. The Dark elf spotted Caramon, the big man struggling with the word 'propitious'. The elf's keen eyes could just make out the flash of red of Raistlin's robes, the younger mage still unconscious in his brother's arms. Dalamar's blood boiled.

"No one brings weapons into Darken Wood," the voice continued. "Not even a knight of Solamnia. Do not fear, noble knight-"

The Dark elf tuned the voice out and wondered what had happened to his dagger. It had probably been abandoned beneath some tree, he thought, depressed, and the moons of magic would fall from the sky before anyone would give it back to him. A pity, it was a good blade, and well enchanted.

"-but even the great Huma laid the Dragonlance at my feet."

Dalamar was not the only one stunned by these words; Sturm gasped and stood. The elf's keen eyes saw the flicker of light on his armour. "Huma!" the knight gasped, astonished. "Who are you?"

"I am the Forestmaster." Upon that pronouncement, the darkness lifted.

Dalamar blinked, the low light dazzling after accustoming his eyes to the near-total dark. Quickly, his eyes flickered over to Raistlin, lying where Caramon had left him. The young mage was unhurt, merely unconscious due to the sheer energy he'd expended in the last hour. He was dreadfully pale, but breathed easily; the coughing fit the undead guardians had caused had passed. Relieved that at least one of them was all right, the elven wizard slipped forward to his side, sparing a glance over his shoulder at the Forestmaster.

The Dark elf paused, then looked again, properly. Whatever he had expected, it wasn't this.

A unicorn stood on a high ledge, looking down at them all, its horn shining as brightly as any of the stars above them, and its dark eyes fixed on the little group. Dalamar shut his eyes and forced down the grinding, insistent pain that threatened to resurface. There was something about this unicorn, this Forestmaster, that recalled in him memories of Silvanesti. The images danced in front of his eyes, released from the metal prison of iron he had locked them in, all the more beautiful and vivid for the fact that he would never see them again.

Crushing down the piecing remembrances that lacerated his heart, he jerked his head away from the mesmerising sight and bent over Raistlin, closing his eyes. Behind him, he heard the faint sound of the unicorn's hooves echoing around the sylvan grove he found himself in. This time, the Dark elf thought, staring blankly at the wall of trees, they were all seeing the same thing, but the atmosphere of the place stayed the same. He saw the same peaceful, beautiful clearing the others saw, but to Dalamar, everything was overlaid with a terrible aura of menace. The huge trees, standing like sentinels around the clearing, might have seemed protective to anyone else, but to the Dark elf they appeared like guards appointed to keep those like himself out.

He took hold of Raistlin's hand and held it tight, a little too tight. The young mage stirred, his eyes flickered open and his hand clasped Dalamar's in turn. Mouthing silently, so no one could hear, Raistlin whispered, "Where are we?"

Silver eyes darted to make sure they were alone and couldn't be overheard. Sure enough, the others were too enraptured by the appearance of the Forestmaster to pay them any attention. Dalamar leant close and murmured into the human's ear, "I haven't the faintest idea."

Raistlin's thin lips twitched into a smile, then he threw an arm around the Dark elf's shoulders, levering himself upright. Dalamar took the opportunity to pull the other mage into a tight embrace. Red clad arms slid around him in turn and the black robed elf let out a low sigh, letting the stress and terror of the evening out with his breath.

Raistlin's voice tickled his ear. "What happened to you?"

Dalamar smiled sadly in turn; he must look terrible indeed for the younger mage to forgo asking him first if he was all right. "It's been a rough evening." Now _that_ was an understatement.

The human rubbed the Dark elf's shoulders and back in consolation. They sat in silence, letting the tension of the last few hours slip from them, to be replaced with a deep exhaustion. They felt physically and emotionally drained, and Dalamar toyed with the idea of just curling up close together on the grassy ground and falling asleep. They didn't, of course; it was far too dangerous here. Even now, the Forestmaster might decide to send the dead after them again, and even the Staff might not save them this time.

Dalamar rubbed his eyes and sighed again, then jumped as the Forestmaster's voice cut through the night. She wasn't talking to them, but to the others. At least, the Dark elf thought she must be as he hadn't turned around yet, but he doubted anyone in this place would offer them anything to eat, as she was doing now.

"Rest yourselves, you are tired and hungry. Food will be brought and fresh water for cleansing. You may put aside you watchfulness and fears for this evening." Definitely not talking to them. "Safety exists here, if it exists anywhere in this land tonight."

It was odd, only when the Forestmaster mentioned food Dalamar realised how hungry he was; it had been easy enough to forget in the panic, but right now, with everything relatively calm, he remembered that they had last eaten that morning, nearly a whole day away.

Caramon's grumble -"Probably more berries anyway"- coined a sneer from the Dark elf, although Dalamar couldn't help but agree that meat of some sort would be more than welcome, they could do with some energy.

Sturm looked worried at Caramon's words and hushed him, muttering that the Forestmaster would rather consider eating them first.

The two mages paid them no attention, watching as a group of centaurs brought lights, chairs, bowls of water, and spread a large tablecloth out on the grass. More than one shot Dalamar ugly looks, clearly furious about allowing a Dark elf into their forest. Dalamar scowled back, his chest hurt and his back ached and he didn't feel particularly forgiving right now.

Raistlin looked from one to the other. "Did they harm you?"

As an answer, Dalamar opened his robes enough to reveal the spreading purple bruise marking his midriff where the centaur's spear had struck him earlier. Raistlin grimaced, gently running his fingers over the swelling. Light as the touch was, it sent sparks of pain shooting through the elf's chest, and he drew away, pulling his robes closed.

"Sorry. Why did they..."

The Silvanesti shrugged. "I wanted to ride with you. They didn't want a _foul_ Dark elf touching them and made that-" He touched the bruising "-blatantly clear."

"And you had to walk?" Raistlin's voice was incredulous. Dalamar nodded. "And how precisely did I manage not to fall off?"

The Dark elf jerked his head in Caramon's direction and human's face contorted in rage. He said nothing, but Dalamar could feel the anger churning inside the young mage, indifference slowly being turned to hate. Feeling somewhat vindicated, the elven wizard kissed Raistlin's hollow cheek, drawing a thin smile from the human.

"Shall we?" Dalamar indicated the bowls of water the centaurs had left.

Raistlin nodded, offering his arm to the Dark elf for help. Dalamar pulled him upright and the two made their way over.

The water was clear, cold, and energizing. The elven wizard splashed his face and finally felt himself beginning to wake up from the haze of fear he had been in since night had fallen. He wet his fingers and carded it through his hair, pulling the knots out and composing himself before joining Raistlin beside the tablecloth.

The chairs looked hardly capable of supporting anyone. Dalamar supposed he and Raistlin could sit, they weighed little enough, but the chair's single thin leg would snap like a twig should Caramon make it bear his bulk. But somehow, despite all probability and more than a few arguments, the chairs were stronger than they looked. They were soon all seated, Dalamar sliding in gingerly, wondering if the seat would suddenly sprout thorns were he to touch it. Mercifully for both his dignity and his backside, it didn't.

Caramon sat on Raistlin's left, much to the mage's obvious disgust. Dalamar, on his right, sent the young wizard a sympathetic look and took his thin hand in his, gently playing with the long, golden fingers before pressing a kiss to the palm.

Caramon looked away, blushing scarlet.

The contact felt at once both intimate and familiar, a sweet relief from fear and stress despite the lack of privacy. Dalamar smiled gently against the mage's hand and brushed his lips over the golden skin. Fingers stroked the side of his face and the Dark elf smiled again, stopping his ministrations and running one finger down the human mage's thin face. He tilted Raistlin's face up, and, ignoring the centaurs as they lifted up the tablecloth, he leant in and caught the human's lips with his own. If the previous touch had been a relief, this was galvanizing. Dalamar shut out the others, the Forestmaster, the centaurs, the whole world; and concentrated fully on the slender mage who was kissing him back with equal fervour. Dear Nuitari, he'd needed this, a gift of strength when they had both felt at their weakest.

The Dark elf lifted his hands to cup Raistlin's face, and felt his elbow collide with something. Reluctantly, he pulled away from the burning touch and looked over.

The tablecloth clearly had some form of enchantment on it, for once the centaurs had lifted it, it had stayed put, hovering at perfect table height. Everyone sitting there was pointedly ignoring the two of them -Caramon looking very unhappy- save for Tasslehoff, who had stopped his investigations of the 'amazing floating tablecloth' and was staring at them interestedly.

Fighting the urge to snap at the kender, Dalamar dropped one hand under the makeshift table and caught Raistlin's in his own, the deft fingers curling welcomingly around him.

Several centaurs trotted over, carrying platters of food and eating utensils. Once again, the Silvanesti bore the brunt of their disgust; he was given neither plate nor cutlery. Stalwartly ignoring the deliberate offence, the Dark elf stared impassively back at them. After the nightmare with the undead, if they thought this petty mockery would daunt him then they would be very disappointed.

Raistlin scowled, and pushed his own plate towards Dalamar. "We'll share," he said shortly.

The formal atmosphere shrouding the clearing disappeared as everyone started to help themselves. Dalamar leant over Raistlin's place and stole a cut of venison from Caramon's platter; the big man had far too much on his plate already.

Tanis, who was sitting across from them, snorted, "I know that elves don't eat meat. Give that back to Caramon."

Dalamar said nothing. He stole Raistlin's knife and cut the piece in question in half before eating it ate it. No, elves didn't normally eat meat, but Tanis would be surprise what you could steel yourself to eat if you were hungry enough. Meat had ceased to look distasteful even before he came to Tarsis.

The meal was good, and the company mostly quiet. Private conversations carried out in low voices and even Caramon was locked in a discussion between Tanis and the Forestmaster.

Raistlin ate slowly, occasionally stealing choice pieces of meat from Dalamar between a few mouthfuls of fruit and bread, the latter soaked in water so as not to aggravate his dry throat.

As the evening began to grind to a close, the platters were taken away, to be replaced with baskets of sweet shortbread.

After waiting for ten minutes for someone to ask the questions that were burning inside him, Dalamar leant over to whisper to Raistlin, "This Forestmaster seems knowledgeable on more than a few topics. Perhaps we could get some _important_ information out of this revel." He nodded at Tasslehoff, who was occupied in teaching the centaurs a trailsong. "I would speak, but they wouldn't listen to me."

Raistlin nodded, his soft, cold voice cutting through the babble like a knife. "Forestmaster, today we fought loathsome creatures that we have never seen before on Krynn. Can you tell us of these?"

The silence was complete and abrupt. Everyone looked at each other grimly and Caramon spoke next. "They walk like men, but look like reptiles. They've clawed hands and feet and wings and they turn to stone when they die."

It was impossible for a unicorn to look sad, but the Forestmaster managed it admirably. "I know of these creatures, some of them entered Darken Wood with a party of goblins from Haven a few weeks ago."

Well, Dalamar thought grimly, that rules out Haven from our list of possible destinations.

"They wore hoods and cloaks, no doubt to disguise their horrible appearance. The centaurs followed them in secret, to make certain they harmed no one before the spectral minions dealt with them."

The way they almost dealt with me, the Dark elf added silently and repressed a shudder. No wonder the reptile men had been loath to enter Darken Wood.

"The centaurs reported that the creatures call themselves 'draconians' and speak of belonging to an 'Order of the Draco.'"

'Draco'. The words sent a bolt of ice up Dalamar's spine. The ancient word for 'dragon'. This time he couldn't repress the shudder.

Raistlin laid a hand on the Dark elf's shoulder, looking puzzled; "Draco, but who are they? Of what race of species?"

"I do not know. I can tell you only this: they are not of the animal world, and they belong to none of the races of Krynn."

This kept on getting better and better. Caramon however, was clearly still blank. "I don't-"

"It means, dolt, that they are not from this world," the Red Robe snapped.

Startled by his brother's venom -Raistlin always hated being in the dark about things, and after the disaster earlier, he wasn't feeling particularly charitable with his twin-, Caramon shut up, and Dalamar spoke up for the first time, his voice low. "The question is not where these creatures _aren't_ from, but where they actually _are_ from."

There was silence, and the Dark elf felt the full weight of the Forestmaster's crushing gaze bearing down on his shoulders. "I cannot answer that." Her voice was like frost on a windowpane, icy and brittle. "But I can tell you that before the spectral minions put an end to these draconians, they spoke of 'armies in the north.'"

The picture of a draconian army that had been haunting the Dark elf in the past day came back in full, and this time he wasn't the only one thinking about it. Everyone started speaking at once.

"Armies! Of these draconians? There must be thousands!" Tanis shouted.

"Impossible!" That was Sturm.

"Precisely what in the past few days has qualified as 'possible'?" Dalamar snarled back.

The conversation, if you could call it that, turned to where to go next, Caramon declaring to go to Haven, Sturm shouting that they should head for Solamnia, and Tanis refusing them both and suggesting they head for Qualinesti.

The Forestmaster interrupted the rapidly growing argument, "The elves have their own problems, as do the Highseekers of Haven. No place is safe. But I will tell you where you must go to find answers to your questions."

This time Raistlin was the first one on the uptake. "What do you mean you will tell us where to go? What do you know of us?"

They both knew the truth even as the words left the wizard's mouth.

"Yes, I was expecting you. A great and shining being appeared to me in the wilderness this day. He told me that the one bearing the Blue Crystal Staff would come this night to Darken Wood."

Dalamar thought of the fallen constellation of the Valiant Warrior they had seen -or rather, not seen- the night before and felt the chill pass through him again.

"The spectral minions would let the staff-bearer and her companions pass," the Forestmaster continued. "Though they have let no human or elf or dwarf or kender to enter Darken Wood since the Cataclysm, I was to give the staff-bearer this message: 'You must fly straight away across the Eastwall Mountains. In two days, the staff-bearer must be within Xak Tsaroth. There, if you prove worthy, you shall receive the greatest gift given to the world.'"

Again, arguments broke out, Flint snorting at the idea that anyone could cross the Eastwall Mountains in two days, Tanis agreeing, while Goldmoon declared that if they were to go near the territories of her people, they would all be killed. For the first time, Dalamar felt a pang of sympathy for the two Plainsmen; he too knew what it was like to be exiled.

The Forestmaster declared that this would be no problem. The only question was, would they go?

Sturm spoke softly, "The stag led us here, perhaps to receive this advice. But my heart lies north in my homeland-"

Ignoring the knight, Raistlin turned to the Dark elf. "What about you?"

Dalamar shrugged. "I would like to go, because we have somehow managed to land ourselves in the biggest predicament since the Cataclysm, and I for one would like to see it through, danger or no. Besides, I doubt we could call ourselves safe no matter where we went."

The human mage nodded. "Yes. We walk into darkness no matter what path we take." A golden hand slipped into Dalamar's and clasped tight. _and I will not leave you_. The silent words didn't need to be spoken.

* * *

In the end, was almost an hour before a decision was reached. Tanis dragged Raistlin off for a word, clearly unhappy about having to consult the Red Robe, but he needed answers and would have eaten his own beard before he asked Dalamar.

Sturm had muttered on about Raistlin's 'black soul' as he put it, and Caramon started shouting at him.

The Dark elf sighed; he was tired. Even the energy the fine meal had given him couldn't compete with the bone-crushing exhaustion fogging his mind. He sat down on the grass and waited for Raistlin to come back, too worn to do anything else.

Finally, the two came back. Tanis looked rattled and Raistlin was smiling coldly. His lover had not given Half-human an easy time. Dalamar smiled.

Tanis turned to the Forestmaster. "Xak Tsaroth, that is my decision."

"Is that what the mage advised," Sturm grumbled.

Tanis nodded, he didn't look much happier. "It is, and I believe his advice is sound. If we do not reach Xak Tsaroth within two days, others will and this 'greatest gift' will be lost forever."

Dalamar nodded, and got up to stand beside Raistlin. The human mage glanced at him and gave a hard smile. Tanis had obviously been as unpleasant as usual. The Dark elf leant down and whispered in Raistlin's ear, close enough to tickle the sensitive skin, "We'll show them. One day, we'll make them all pay."

The Red Robe reached over and twined his fingers through Dalamar's black hair. "Yes, we will. One day, they will call us masters." His golden eyes rested on Caramon; the young mage had not forgotten what Dalamar had told him.

The elf nodded, resting his chin of the young mage's shoulder. "But for the moment, I think we have our own problems." He jerked his head up at the sky. Raistlin followed his gaze; between the boughs of the trees, they could see shapes flitting towards them. Dalamar had already picked out the creatures, they were after all familiar to him. Pegasi were occasional visitors to the elven lands.

The rest of the group gaped in amazement as the flying horses circled above them, dropping lower and lower until their feathery wings almost brushed the ground and the wind of each beat pulled at Dalamar's robes. Finally, each landed, the huge wings folding as they bowed to the Forestmaster.

"You have summoned us?" The pegasus' voice was at once both deep and soft.

"These guests of mine have urgent business to the east. I bid you bear them with the swiftness of the winds across the Eastwall Mountains." The unicorn nodded her head in their direction.

Dalamar would have thought a horse incapable of astonishment, but once again, he was proved wrong. The pegasus walked towards them, looking them each over in turn.

When he came to the Silvanesti, the pegasus' ears flattened and he snorted loudly. Dalamar took a step back, remembering all too well how the centaurs had treated him. However, the pegasus simply looked at the Forestmaster, who inclined her head again. Clearly disgruntled by the idea of carrying him, the winged horse tossed his head and moved on, muttering dire warnings about having to carry humans, dwarves and upon everything a _Dark elf_.

Finally, the pegasus indicated that they were to mount. Goldmoon did first, raising her staff up so that starlight glinted off its many facets and her voice cutting through the night air in a victory hymn.

Dalamar helped Raistlin up before vaulting on himself, ignoring the pegasus' shudder of disgust at the contact, and slid his legs over the wing joints to help his balance. The position made his robes ride up, but there was no help for it; dignity would have to be dispensed with.

There was a moment's pause, then the pegasi crouched and leaped up. The wings on either side of the two mages swung open and started to beat. The winged steeds took to the air, rising through the treetops before swinging out towards the east.

Dalamar looked up, the height making his head spin, and smiled suddenly. They had left Darken Wood and its magics behind, and it was a great relief to be able to see the now-familiar black moon shining above him. The Dark elf shut his eyes, then opened them, looking down to see Darken Wood swiftly shrinking and vanishing into the distance.

"Never again," Dalamar vowed. Raistlin didn't answer, he had fallen asleep.

Glancing around, the Dark elf saw that he was the only one still awake. Even the kender was snoring. Shaking his head, the elven mage laughed softly. "Sleep spell."

But of course, such spells didn't affect elves, even Dark elves. Still, he _was_ tired, tired beyond belief, and it didn't seem such a bad idea. Who knew when they would next have the chance to rest?

Looking up one last time at Nuitari, reassuring himself that they were truely _out_ of the Wood and would hopefully never return, Dalamar rested his head on Raistlin's back, and tried to sleep.

But even in the midst of his exhaustion, the blank, hollow holes in the constellations above them still haunted his rest.

_Please review._

_Skull Bearer._


	7. Of Ambush

_Dalamar Nightson- Dalamar is and will always be a strong individual, he has to stand up to Raistlin, after all!_

_Hakatri- I agree, using undead to get rid of unwanted guests seems to be going a bit far, I mean, what's wrong with a nice rottweiler?_

_Wytchcat- Heh, yes, send the centaurs to the glue-factory!_

_Red Malys- Soon enough for you?_

_Tsukiyo non Yume- Thank you for the long review! I used the centaurs to symbolise the side of good I hate the most, which is like the one of the Kingpriest. 'I am good, you are bad, so I can abuse you'  
Thank you for the skull plushie!_

**Crepuscule**

Chapter seven- Of Ambush

_This is a tale of a northern soul  
Looking for his way back home  
-Northern Soul, The Verve._

Raistlin slowly drifted back to himself from a sleep so deep and peaceful that he couldn't remember the last time he had felt so refreshed. It was odd, because he normally didn't sleep well without a blanket of some kind, and what with the hardness of the ground, the tickle of the long grass he was laying on, it was lucky he had slept at all, never mind slept well.

There was a warm weight against his side, Dalamar's arm. Or at least, it had _better_ belong to the Dark elf. If it was anyone else's -such as that of a certain idiotic brother who didn't learn his lesson no matter how badly it was burnt into him- there was going to be trouble. He needn't have worried; when he opened his eyes, it was to the welcome, familiar sight of his elven lover, curled up and still fast asleep. Beyond him, Raistlin saw a rolling expanse of blasted, withered prairie -at least to his eyes they seemed so.

The Plains, he thought, puzzled. What were they doing here?

Raistlin sat up. The pegasi who had carried them this far had gone, yet they weren't even past the Eastwall Mountains. He could see them in the distance, cutting through the skyline like great stone knives.

"Oh, you're awake," a bleak voice spoke from behind him.

The young mage turned. Tanis was the only other one awake. "They couldn't carry us any further," he continued.

"Couldn't, or wouldn't?" Raistlin replied, glancing over at Dalamar. The winged horses had not been happy to carry them even _before_ they realised they would also be taking a Dark elf.

Tanis sighed, "They didn't dare go any further. Something about a darkness up ahead."

Raistlin smirked, just their luck to have been foisted off on a band of cowardly pegasi. There was darkness _everywhere_ on Krynn, or so it seemed.

Turning away from Half-elven, he leant forward and shook Dalamar's shoulder. They should really be moving, and he could use some decent company.

The Dark elf yawned and blinked, his grey eyes focusing on the human mage. He smiled. "Good morning." He rose up on his elbows and kissed Raistlin, pulling him in close. The memories of the night before had clearly not left Dalamar completely, and to be honest, Raistlin didn't feel entirely recovered either. The embrace was warm, a reminder that, despite the trials of Darken Wood, they were still alive and still together. The younger mage reached up and played with a few strands of the Dark elf's black hair, flicking them out of his face.

Finally, and rather reluctantly, Raistlin pulled away. Dalamar sat up and stretched in the early morning light, catching sight, for the first time, of their surroundings. "What in the Abyss..."

The Raistlin shook his head and explained about the pegasi. The elf looked irritated. "It sounds as if they just left us here because they couldn't be bothered to take us any further."

The human mage shook his head. "I disagree. They were cowardly, yes, but I do think that there is something dark up ahead. Remember Riverwind's tale: 'Death on black wings'".

Dalamar was silent, thinking it over, then he nodded and changed the subject, "Who else is awake?"

"Only us and Half-elven." Raistlin nodded at Tanis.

The Half-Elf didn't seem to have heard; he was staring up over their heads and towards the horizon, where three columns of black smoke were rising lazily into the air, black threads against the gold of the coming dawn. The two mages looked at the smoke, and then at each other. There was no bet as to who had been attacked.

Tanis appeared to have come to the same conclusion. He leant over and shook Riverwind awake. The Plainsman awoke at once, and clearly feeling the tension, looked around. Stunned, he turned back to Tanis. "What's this? We're in the Plains of Abanasinia. Still about half a day journey from the Eastwall Mountains. My village lies to the east-" He pointed at the smoke, then broke off, horrified.

Definitely no bet.

Riverwind let out a low cry.

The noise woke Goldmoon up. Dazed, she turned to Riverwind, saw his expression, and followed his gaze. "No!"

Her voice roused the rest of the group from their slumber. "What is it?" Caramon asked drowsily.

"Their village," Tanis answered. "It's burning. Apparently the armies are moving faster than we thought."

Raistlin shook his head; right conclusion, wrong reasons. Typical. "No. Remember- the draconian clerics mentioned they had tracked the staff to a village in the Plains."

The silence was horrible.

Goldmoon insisted that they leave immediately for her village and, without waiting for an answer, she started off towards the smoke, Riverwind in tow.

The two mages stood together, watching them go, the Dark elf's arm around Raistlin's waist and the unspoken question about whether to follow hanging in the air.

Dalamar then shrugged. "They've got the staff," he said, by means of an answer.

Raistlin nodded, and bent down to pick up his own staff and pack. It was oddly heavy and he wondered which idiot had put stones in it. Pulling it open, he looked inside.

Instead of the half-empty bag he expected, it was full. Inside were enough provisions for several days. What was more,Raistlin noticed that his dagger, the dagger that he had been given long ago in Haven, was back in its sheath.

Nor was he the only one to have noticed; apparently everyone had full pack and had their weapons returned, even Dalamar.

"At least that's one thing we won't have to worry about," Tanis said gloomily, as they started to follow the Plainsmen.

* * *

Raistlin had participated in several skirmishes and even in a few full-scale wars in his and Dalamar's five years as mercenaries, but nothing could have prepared him for the wreckage of the Que-shu village. It was as if the curse Par-Salian had put on Raistlin had been extended to the world. For once, the Red Robe knew that what he saw was being shared by everyone.

If whoever it was had wanted the village razed to the ground, they couldn't have done it better. Raistlin knew he and Dalamar saw it for what it was: An example shown to the rest of Krynn. Everything had been levelled until no buildings were more than a few bricks high, and even the stones themselves were strangely melted, like butter on a hot day.  
Nor were the buildings the only things to have been put to the torch. Bodies littered the streets, scorched, blackened, and twisted, as if the victims had attempted to flee before being incinerated. The ruins were still smouldering, a tribute to the heat that had been turned on them, even though more than a day must have passed since the massacre.

Raistlin stared at one of the half-molten walls. The charred corpse of a boy was lying against the wall, a small dog chewing at it, trying to find some meat that hadn't been carbonised, Flint shouted at the animal and it ran away. The stones were too hot to touch or even to approach too closely, and looked like shapeless blobs, melted by some unknown but tremendous heat.

The human mage turned, then reached over to attract Dalamar's attention.

A crude gibbet hung behind them, the wood blasted and blistered. From the blackened wood hung three chains, and on the end of these there were three bodies. The corpses of three hobgoblins, their eyes picked out by carrion crows, stared blankly out over the devastation. Above them, nailed to the wood, hung a shield. Words were carved on its dented surface:

_**This is what happens to those who take prisoners without my commands.**_ It read. _**Kill or be killed. Verminaad.**_

No one was paying the gibbet, or the two mages, much attention. Flint was consoling the kender, who was sobbing in a corner. Sturm was kneeling over a dead body, whispering prayers to Paladine. Tanis was staring at one of the ruined houses, too horror-struck to speak. Riverwind too was staring around, clearly not seeing anything, while Goldmoon was running through the village, vainly trying to find any who might have escaped, calling out and being answered only by echoes.

Dalamar tapped Raistlin on the shoulder. He was holding a handful of dust, in which were stuck several arrowheads. "Dead draconians," he said softly. "They may come back."

They had no chance, he thought. They fought, but they had no chance.

Raistlin walked over to the shell-shocked Tanis and shook him. "We must leave. There is nothing here and we must reach Xak Tsaroth. Then we may have our revenge."

Half-elven looked at him blindly, then as the words finally registered, he nodded vaguely and started off towards the Eastwall Mountains.

One by one, the others followed.

* * *

The walk was long and exhausting, for once they started walking, no one wanted to stop. To stop would mean having to confront what they had seen. As night started to fall, Raistlin once again had to have Dalamar help him, or he would have fallen behind. He was tired, even after the previous night's rest, and while he was not in the state of shock the others were in, the sight of the broken village had shaken him. What weapons did the draconians have that could do such devastation?

Dalamar beside him was also silent. The Dark elf, used as he was to terrible things, had also been stunned. Raistlin tightened his grip on the elf's hand, and Dalamar blinked, then smiled at him before drifting back into his own thoughts.

The human mage too, was thinking deeply. If these draconians were vicious enough to murder -and Raistlin was quite sure the Plainsmen had not stared the offensive- a whole village full of people for no other discernable reason than they knew of the Blue Crystal Staff, even though the Que-shu believed it to be a hoax, then what were they_ unwilling_ to do?

Moreover, Raistlin knew that there would be no reasoning with those creatures or their mysterious Verminaad. They knew of the staff, and what was more, they knew it was not a fake. If this Verminaad had been prepared to expend troops to not only destroy Que-shu but also to raze their buildings to the ground, then they would be very eager to get their hands on the two of _them_, not to mention the rest of the group.

He shuddered, and Dalamar rubbed his back gently.

It was long past nightfall before they stopped to rest and unlike last night, sleep brought little comfort; merely fearful dreams where draconians, like their namesakes, breathed white-hot flame on flesh that melted like the stones of Que-shu, running down over bone like butter under a hot flame.

Raistlin awoke with a jump, and burrowed back against Dalamar's warm body, the Dark elf's arm coiling around his waist.

* * *

What sleep didn't bring, the morning did, offering some measure of comfort. The horrors of the previous day seemed softened, hazy behind the veil of a night's sleep, peaceful or not.

The two mages had curled up on the hard ground, and slept facing each other, all the better to offer ease when a nightmare gripped the other. As he woke up, Raistlin could feel Dalamar's hands stroking his hair, soothing and erasing the memories of dark dreams and darker memories.

Lying there, feeling much calmer, Raistlin felt a deep stab of love for the Dark elf. He rolled over, lying on his back and looking up at Dalamar's sadly smiling face. His lover also looked much better for the night's rest. Today it was Raistlin's turn to sit up and kiss his lover, and, if they had been alone, the human mage knew that it wouldn't have ended there. There were so many ways to offer comfort, after all.

Unfortunately for them both, they weren't alone. The Plainsmen were already awake, although by the looks on their faces, they probably hadn't gone to sleep in the first place. They sat close together, a position Raistlin knew very well. He and Dalamar had sat like that all too many times, when they had needed to draw strength from each others presence. For once, there was no scorn in the mages' eyes.

Tanis and Tasslehoff were also awake; they had one of the kender's maps and were trying to puzzle it out. A hopeless endeavour, since the map dated from before Cataclysm and the whole land had been ripped asunder since it had been drawn. Still, Xak Tsaroth didn't appear to be too far away.

Raistlin turned away, stoking up the fire for his tea.

Although the others were not long in waking up, no one spoke unless they had too, and it was a singularly gloomy group that huddled around the newly revived fire. Goldmoon was sitting beside Raistlin, her staff laying across her lap as the Staff of Magius lay across the young mage's, but even the Staff of Magius was not so stained with blood as the Blue Crystal Staff.

In his mind's eye, Raistlin could see that Staff, still shining and polished even in his sight, dripping red with the blood of Goldmoon's people, people who had died to keep its existence secret. Whose blood would stain it next? Its bearer's? Raistlin's?

Dalamar's?

"How precious it has become," he murmured sardonically, "now that it has been purchased with the blood of innocents."

Tanis shot him a look, then, seeing no scorn in the young wizard's hourglass eyes, turned away.

Goldmoon barely noticed the non-verbal exchange. "Is it worth it?" Her voice was as exhausted as she looked. "Is it worth the lives of my people?"

Dalamar answered, his eyes silver-grey as they focused on her, "If it isn't, then your people will have died for nothing, _Chieftain's Daughter_."

Raistlin touched Dalamar's arm, the words were harsh, even for him. Not even Riverwind spoke, too appalled to speak. Goldmoon flinched as it the words had been a blow, but brutal as they were, they were true.

The Plainswoman's jaws seemed to be locked, yet she managed to force her words out. "You are right, the True Gods damn your cold heart, Dark elf. I am Chieftain's Daughter... and my father would be ashamed of me."

Riverwind threw a murderous look at Dalamar before turning to comfort Goldmoon. "No, you are Chieftain."

"Chieftain of the dead," Dalamar added with crushing callousness, and again Raistlin frowned at him, he didn't like the Plainsmen either, but that was uncalled for.

The Plainsman looked like he would have liked to hit the Dark elf; his hand twitched towards his scabbard, but he didn't draw the blade. "You are one to speak of the dead, Nightson. They should have taken you in Darken Wood."

This time it was Dalamar who flinched.

The barbarian's eyes were cold as he spoke, "We should get going, it's nearly dawn."

* * *

The road Tasslehoff's map showed might once have been well travelled, but now it was old and broken, stones cracking and falling even as they stepped on it, and occasionally it vanished altogether, a dirt track taking it's place. It had probably once led all the way to Xak Tsaroth, but now it finished, without warning, in the middle of a swamp.

Flint didn't notice the abrupt end to the path and his reflexes were too slow to avoid the drop, the result being that he walked off the edge and into a pool of deathmire. It took both Caramon and Sturm to pull him out again.

"We can't walk through this!" Tanis despaired. "Maybe we should turn back."

"No time," Raistlin choked. The air was thick and damp, and, even thought in was mid morning, mist still clung to the trees. It made it hard to breath, and the human mage was constantly fighting back coughing fits.

"And there is a way." Riverwind's voice was oddly vague, as if he was remembering a dream.

The Red Robe stared at him, wondering if he would know the way through this; they were miles from where Que-shu had once stood. Then it dawned.

"And we can get through," the Plainsman continued, still in the same strange voice. "I know a path."

Of _course_. Raistlin should have guessed before this; after all, the Plainsman had found one priceless artefact there already.

"I know the way through the swamp. And it leads to-" he broke off, but they knew what he was going to say.

"The broken city of evil?" Tanis finished grimly.

Riverwind nodded.

Dalamar smiled thinly; no doubt he too had guess before it was said. "Xak Tsaroth. Of course. Where else would we find our answers?"

"And we must go there now!" Raistlin added, feeling the burn of anxiety start in his chest. Couldn't they understand the importance of what the thrice-damned Forestmaster had said? "We must be there by midnight tonight."

Riverwind led them now. He looked dazed, as if walking in a dream. Yet each time an area looked impassable, he was able to pick out a safe path through the mire. Despite the mist that still swirled stubbornly around them and the vines that trailed down from the trees, the Plainsman never put a step wrong, nor did he hesitate, even in places where a misstep would lead to a lingering death in the morass.

Where there was truly no way through, Riverwind pointed out crude rope bridges strung over the mud, telling them they were always there when an area proved impassable.

Raistlin and Dalamar looked at each other; it wasn't particularly reassuring. Who had built these bridges? The human mage had a feeling that they didn't want to know, but were going to find out all too soon.

By the time the trees had started to thin, Raistlin was trembling with chills and barely suppressed coughs. They had to wade several times and while Dalamar had helped carry him at times, the wet clothes clung to his thin body, the cold and the stench making him feel ill.

What was more, although the trees were growing sparser, the swamp still continued, murkier than ever, deep pools of stagnant water scattered all over their path. They had to use the rope bridges more and more often, and Raistlin found he couldn't repress his cough any more, doubling over, hand to his mouth. Even when he recovered enough to walk on, the mist made him feel as if he was inhaling clouds.

Flint and Tasslehoff were leading the way by now, and by the sound of it, they had somehow been able to get their hands on some alcohol. The noise they were making made the Red Robe wince; they were louder than the rest of the group put together.

Beside him, Raistlin heard Dalamar sigh. The Dark elf slid past, clearly intending to catch up with the tipsy pair and shut them up. Since the dwarf and the kender were some way ahead, Raistlin lost sight of Dalamar through the mist.

There was a moment's calm, then Tasslehoff's voice cut through the fog shockingly loud and making them all jump. "Tanis! Ambush!"

Caramon swore and drew his sword, but Raistlin had barely reached for his spell components before there was a splash, then another, even louder, and four draconians ran through the mist.

A moment later, too quickly for anyone to act, everything went black. Raistlin couldn't see anything, and couldn't risk trying to cast in total darkness.

This time it was him who cursed. A magic-user, he thought, fighting down a burst of panic. If these draconians had magic, what had they done to Dalamar? Even a simple sleep spell could be fatal in this place when a fall in the mud would lead the Dark elf to a drowning death.

Biting down his fear and struggling to keep his voice steady, he called to Tanis, "Magic! These are magic-users. Stand aside, you cannot fight them."

By all the Gods, if these creatures had so much as laid a hand on Dalamar-

Before he could act, before he could even finish that thought, a shock of pain shot through his skull. Even as his hand jerked up to the dart sticking out of his neck, the whip-slash burn of poison shot through his veins. His head seemed to be filled with ice, his legs too weakened to hold him up. As his throat closed up, Raistlin had time for one shot cry of agony before he fell to the ground and the darkness behind his eyes swallowed him.

_Skull Bearer._


	8. Of Conflagration

_Red Malys- Glad you liked it._

_wytchcat- Heh, well, they /are/ in love, and haven't had much chance for ahem intimacy. ;)_

_Tsukiyo no Yume- Good and evil are just points of view, and evil is not necessarily heartless._

_hakatri- Ookay... backs away..._

**Crepuscule**

Chapter eight- Of Conflagration

_Give me your powder and pills  
I want to see if they cure my ills  
I've not time for love and devotion  
No time for old fashioned potion  
-Northern Soul, The Verve._

Dalamar finally caught up with the dwarf and the kender as they were halfway across a log bridge. However, the Dark elf had barely time to open his mouth to speak before the first draconian stepped out of the undergrowth-

-Only to be met with the butt of Tasslehoff's hoopak. It swayed, then topped over off the log and into the murky water below. As it struggled to climb back on the log, its three companions appeared and charged.

Tasslehoff shouted a warning to the others and Flint lunged forward, axe leading the way, but the dwarf had miscalculated his swing -unsurprisingly, as he had downed three quarters of the brandy. The new draconian took a step backwards. It's scales were smooth gold and, unlike the others, it had no wings. It raised its hands in the air in a way that was far too familiar to Dalamar.

"Spellcaster!" he gasped, then drew his dagger and started forward. As dangerous as it was to disrupt the casting of a spell, the thought of letting the creature finish it made the risk a welcome one.

He had taken barely two steps on the slippery log when he was stopped. Flint, drunk and carried forward by the momentum of his failed attack, lost his balance and slipped, starting to fall off the log. In a panic, the dwarf scrabbled around for any support, and his hand closed around the Dark elf's robes.

Dalamar, his legs tangled in the black folds and the collar snatching tight enough to throttle him, lost his footing and followed the old dwarf off the makeshift bridge and into the pool. Filthy, muddy water filled the elf's eyes and mouth. As he struggled to reach the surface, he heard a second splash as Tasslehoff decided that staying on a log faced with four angry draconians was not, as Tanis often put it, 'conductive to a long life'.

Cursing, the Dark elf kicked his way to the surface, Flint clinging to him like a leech. The dwarf was frantic, and his flailing added to their problems. Finally, after his fist cracked Dalamar in the jaw, the elf slammed the hilt of his knife into his temple and dragged them both over to the weed-choked bank.

Flint was out cold, but mercifully the draconians had been too occupied with the rest of the group to worry about them.

Tasslehoff had already reached the bank, and helped Dalamar drag the dwarf out of the stinking water before the Dark elf climbed out himself. They crouched down under the curtain off weeds, peering out.

There hadn't been much of a struggle. A globe of darkness obscured most of the log now, and the whole area was covered with strong magical spider webs.

Although Dalamar hadn't heard Raistlin's scream in the underwater panic, he was frantic, shifting around to try and catch sight of what had happened to his lover. A twig snapped under him, and after that, he stayed still.

The magical darkness finally vanished, and more draconians arrived. They picked up the bound bodies of the group -by the look of it, the draconian had cast a sleep spell- and slipped away through the trees. Dalamar caught a flash of red from Raistlin's robes, but he was too far away to see the human. The other draconians followed behind with their possessions, one of them nearly burning its hand off trying to pick up the blue crystal staff.

It was everything Dalamar could do not to get up and charge after them. However, as much as the thought of Raistlin in the claws of these creatures tormented him, he knew that such an action would be nothing less than suicidal. Trembling with a mixture of bone deep fear and impotent rage, he dug his nails into his palms and stayed still.

Flint groaned. The elven wizard, snapping out of his black thoughts, looked at him in alarm, but the draconians seemed to be too far away to hear.

"What happened?" The dwarf touched his no doubt aching head.

"You fell off the log," Dalamar said shortly, starting to stand up. The draconians were out of sight now and the Dark elf had every intention of following.

Still rubbing his head, Flint looked at him suspiciously. "How?"

"Don't argue," Tasslehoff interjected, also getting to his feet. "Can you walk?"

"Of course I can walk," the dwarf grumbled, swaying slightly as he got up. "Where is everybody?"

Dalamar gritted his teeth. "The draconians took them." He forced the words out, feeling the claw of fear tightening on his heart with every word.

"Everyone? Just like that?"

The elf was tempted to hit him again. "_Yes,_ just like that."

"They were magic users," Tasslehoff clarified.

"Well, so am I." Dalamar clenched his fists. They had wasted too much time already. "And we are following them."

Flint nodded, still looking a little dazed. "Where's my helmet?"

* * *

After an all-too-long argument concerning the whereabouts of Flint's helmet and -to the dwarf's horror- axe, where Dalamar threatened to throw him back into the water if he wanted to find them so badly, they set off. Flint was still muttering about 'how they were going to get anyone out with only a stick knife, some magic tricks, and an overgrown slingshot' even after they reached the draconians trail. A trail that was easy to follow, too easy. Not only were the creatures clearly unconcerned with keeping their existence quiet, this was also a path used often. The earth beneath the Dark elf's boots was churned up from hundreds of clawed feet.

It was a long walk. Dalamar's robes were soaking wet and clung to him tighter than the dwarf had done, doing little to keep out the evening chill. Nevertheless, a cold of a very different kind was lodged in his chest, whispering horrible possibilities whenever his thoughts turned to Raistlin.

Nothing was going to stop him getting his lover out of the draconians scaly grasp, but what horrors could they have done to him by the time he did? They had taken them all captive for a reason, but the Dark elf remembered all too well the gibbet in Que-shu. If this Verminaad displayed so proudly those who took unwanted captives, then what would he do to the captives themselves? If they didn't find some way of freeing Raistlin and the others, the draconians might decide that their prisoners were not worth keeping, and Dalamar shuddered at the thought of what that would mean.

Night had fallen fully before they caught sight of the dull orange glow of a great campfire. Quietly, they crept off the path and crouched in the bushes, just out of sight of any sentries there might be. Carefully, they peered out.

It was a huge camp, and Dalamar wasn't sure he was in agreement with Tasslehoff's reassurance that the more of them there were, the less likely they were to notice intruders. The Silvanesti knew without any doubt that it would be next to impossible to sneak in without a diversion of some kind, even before he noticed what was lurking inside the shell of a great building.

Flint saw it first.

"Great Reorx!" He gaped, his eyes nearly leaving their sockets. "A dragon!"

Dalamar looked where the dwarf was staring and was suddenly very, very glad he was sitting down.

It _was_ a dragon. A great, black dragon, coiled threateningly inside the wrecked building. Its head alone was longer than Dalamar was tall, and it rested on the ground just beyond the ring of firelight.

Dalamar had heard mentions of dragons in the incoming war, whispers from Kitiara in Solace and dark rumors on the road, but never had he imagined they would be facing one in the flesh. Dear Nuitari! How in the world would they win against such a creature?

Except...

Except there seemed to be something... almost... _wrong_ about the creature. And it was not just, as the fearless kender put it, that it 'wasn't very lively', although that was true. It was something else…

Then it hit him.

The dragon was _cold_.

In the darkness, he was been relying on his elvensight, seeing heat instead of light, and the dragon just wasn't showing up. The heat such a huge creature would generate should he enormous, even asleep, but the one lying in front of them just didn't produce any. It had the odd patch of dull warmth where someone had touched it or where the fire had warmed it, but was otherwise the same temperature of the building within it was crouched.

"It isn't alive," Dalamar whispered, amazed.

Flint stared at the Dark elf, clearly thinking he had lost his mind. "Go up and tickle its foot," he snorted, "then we'll see how alive it is."

"I think I'll do that," Tasslehoff answered, just before darting off around the clearing towards the building. The dwarf cursed, but Dalamar followed. The camp was celebrating and no one was likely to notice them skulking around in the shadows. Besides, prisoners would probably be kept near the so-called 'dragon', and Tasslehoff's investigation might be just the diversion they needed. Behind him, he heard Flint swear a second time, then follow them.

It was even darker behind the ruined building that served as the dragon's lair. A small, suspiciously well-used door was set into the back wall. Dalamar's eyes narrowed; surely, a dragon couldn't get through _that_? Still, before pushing the door open, he had to struggle against the fear that if they were wrong, they would serve as the beast's next meal. Silently, he opened it.

The inside of the house looked like a mad basket-weaver's. Everything in the place had been torn out -Dalamar could still make out the ridge of floorboards where the first floor had been- to make room for what looked like an enormous wicker cave. It was as if some giant had decided to make a basket, got bored halfway through, and left the unfinished product lying on its side. For a moment there was silence, each of them trying to work out what in the _Abyss _was going on, Flint even suggesting they might have got the wrong house -a ridiculous notion, since this was the only building in the immediate area- then Tasslehoff gave a squeak of excitement.

"That's the dragon!" he whispered, giggling. "It's a fake dragon; it's there to scare people."

"Like the Belzorite statue," Dalamar said softly, remembering the mad cult and the 'living' statue of their deity. "The draconians clearly think it's real." He had seen them presenting the blue crystal staff to the 'dragon'.

Still grinning, the kender scuttled into the wicker dragon. Dalamar started forward, then stopped and shrugged. He wanted a diversion, and here he had one. Hopefully, the kender would make so much noise that he would be able to get Raistlin out without too much fuss. Pulling the reluctant Flint out with him -the dwarf hadn't been keen on using the kender as a diversion and had tried to stop Tas- they both left the house. They circled the building and cautiously looked around the corner.

Dalamar congratulated himself on being right, the cage in which prisoners were locked was close by. However, they hadn't taken more that two paces towards it when the dragon started to shriek.

As much as the elven mage disliked Tasslehoff -which was actually marginally less than he disliked the kender's friends- he had to admit that he did know how to act. The draconians were certainly fooled by the sudden noise and motion. Not that the noise was reserved solely for the dragon; Caramon, locked inside a bamboo cage, was also kicking up an enormous fuss for some unknown reason. The big man was apparently trying to tear the cage to pieces with his bare hands, and succeeding in attracting the attention of far too many draconian guards. Dalamar gritted his teeth, willing the oaf to _be quiet! _It would be impossible to get anyone out if he kept this up. The Tasslehoff-dragon came to the rescue, demanding that Caramon be brought in front of him.

After a quick discussion, a group of draconians -clearly leaders of some sort- dragged Caramon out of the wrecked cage and towards the 'dragon'. Crouching down and squinting against the firelight, Dalamar could see a pile of their equipment, not to mention the crystal staff, lying near the wicker dragon, beside the fire pit. Flint dug Dalamar in the ribs and pointed at the rest of the group. "I'm going to get them out."

"No! Wait- Blast!" Dalamar swore. Flint had already left and to follow him would be to make them twice as conspicuous. Cursing the dwarf, the the Dark elf pressed himself against the rough-hewn wall of the building and watched as the draconians threw Caramon down in front of the dragon. There were tears in the big man's eyes; Dalamar could see them in the firelight.

Calm down, Dalamar thought to himself, trying to quiet the hot surge of panic that shot through his stomach and turned his legs to water. Calm down, it's probably not what you think. It _won't_ be what you think. Oh, please Nuitari, let it be someone else, please...

Then his worse fears were confirmed when Caramon spoke, his voice shaking, "My brother is dying, do what you will to me. I ask only one thing. Give me my sword so I can die fighting."

Fear might lend strength, but the horror filling Dalamar weakened him until he could barely stand. He hung onto the wall feeling as he might collapse if he let go, the stone of the edifice rough against the side of his head. He wanted to leave the cover of the building and run to Raistlin's side, but what good would that do save to get himself noticed? He was no healer, and the staff-

The staff!

The draconians' attention was fixed on the dragon and Caramon. The beast was flapping its wings and leering down at the warrior, in all appearances preparing to eat him, and everyone was watching them. The blue crystal staff lay on top of a pile of their equipment, its smooth sides gleaming in the light of the nearby fire.

Fighting down the mad desire to just rush in and grab the artefact, Dalamar forced himself to move slowly. Ignoring the screaming voice inside him telling him that this was _not_ the moment to take his time, that any delay would cost Raistlin his life, the Dark elf inched forward on his haunches, ready to snatch the staff and bolt if he was spotted.

Mercifully, the draconians were too engrossed in their spectacle to notice.

The last few meters were the hardest. He was close to the fire and had to crawl forward on his belly in order not to attract attention, fear and the fire's heat sending trickles of sweat running down his face and stinging his eyes. Finally, he reached the pile of equipment, and extended out a hand to grasp the staff's smooth haft.

It was then he remembered what happened when someone the Gods of Good didn't like touched the staff.

There was a flash of light, which was mercifully lost in the glare of the fire, and a shock of agony tore through Dalamar's hand. It was as it he had touched a bar of red-hot iron. Somehow, he kept from crying out and forced himself to keep gripping the staff even when every nerve screamed at him to drop it. Trying to block out a pain so intense it sent shivers of weakness through him, he crawled back out into the shadows of the house.

Cursing the staff's maker and fighting back the urge to pass out, he wrapped the staff in his wet cloak and ran as fast as he dared towards the cage.

Flint was filling Tanis and the others in when he reached the bamboo prison, holding the furiously hot staff under his cloak. They turned as he arrived, and the relief he saw in their eyes was enough to placate his worst fears. It was not too late. The relief was crippling.

Wordlessly, Goldmoon held her hand out for the staff, and Dalamar handed it to her.

He could see Raistlin now, and the sight sickened him to his soul. The human mage was slumped on the ground, unconscious. He could also see how even Caramon had concluded he was dying. The golden face was ash-pale, and he was barely breathing. There was no sign of a wound, but when he turned to Tanis for an explanation, the Half-elf said nothing, only holding up a small dart.

Poison.

The Dark elf shuddered, then turned back to Goldmoon. The staff had to work. It _had_ to. Dalamar didn't know what he would do if it didn't.

But mercifully, there still seemed to be some healing power within the staff, for when Goldmoon laid it against the young mage, the artefact glowed. Not with the harsh flash it had emitted when the Dark elf had touched it, but a gentle blue light, which softened even Raistlin's thin, pain-filled face.

Behind them, pandemonium was setting in. Tasslehoff's mad flapping of the dragon's wings had sent sparks flying in every direction, and some of them had ignited the draconians' bamboo huts. The dragon-men themselves were too engrossed to notice. They also overlooked the soft series of cracks as Flint, Tanis, and Dalamar finished demolishing the bamboo cage. The dwarf, and the Half-elf, banding with Riverwind and Sturm, hurried over to get Caramon, while Dalamar picked up the barely conscious Raistlin before fleeing with Goldmoon into the trees.

The loud yells behind them informed Dalamar that their escape had finally been noticed, but the uproar was drowned out by a loud crash and a crackle of flame. Glancing back, the Dark elf saw that Tasslehoff had somehow pushed the whole dragon into the roaring fire, and that the wicker was doing what any huge pile off kindling would do and blazing merrily.

Dalamar had a sudden, hysterical urge to laugh. The evening had been a study in impossibility, and the desire to let go and howl was almost too much.

In his arms, Raistlin gave a low groan, finally starting to wake up. Deciding they had gone far enough, Dalamar knelt down and lay the younger mage on the ground.

Raistlin was still pale, but the dreadful ashen colour had gone from his face and his eyes were clear. "What happened?"

The Dark elf gave a weak smile; he didn't know where to start, so he just helped his lover sit up and then hugged him tightly. A little uncertainly, Raistlin hugged him back.

Dalamar stayed like that for a long time, his head resting against the young mage's chest. He could hear his heart beating- still a little fast, but deeply reassuring. At some point Raistlin let go of him and ran his fingers through the dark hair, over and over again, a soothing, calming feeling.

The mad adrenaline rush was dying away, and the Dark elf was suddenly all too conscious of the stabbing pain in his burnt hands. However, even despite the pain, he didn't want to move, didn't want to let go, and would have happily stayed like that all night. Before long, though, the others came running over.

Caramon had clearly been told about what had happened, because he walked straight to his brother's side, backing up a few steps when he saw Dalamar.

"Are you alright?" The big man's voice was unsure; he never seemed to know what to say when he saw the two of them together.

"I'm fine," Raistlin said coldly.

Dalamar said nothing, staring at Caramon with narrowed eyes, but before he could tell the human exactly what he thought of his heroic plan to be eaten by a dragon while his brother died, everyone's attention was drawn to Flint.

The dwarf had gone white, then turned and ran back towards the camp, towards the burning dragon and a hoard of panic-stricken draconians. "Tas! In the dragon!"

Strum and Riverwind went charging after Flint, and Raistlin looked at Dalamar, clearly demanding an explanation.

"There's a dragon back there. No, not a real one-" Dalamar added, seeing the human mage's shocked expression. "-It's made of wicker, a puppet of sorts to intimidate the draconians, like the statue of Belzor we saw in Haven." Raistlin nodded, prompting him to continue. "We found out how to get inside it, and the kender must have found some way of controlling it. Unfortunately, he managed to push it into the bonfire and," the Dark elf shrugged, "he's still inside it."

The human wizard glanced over at the ruins of the draconian encampment, then echoed Dalamar's sentiments and shrugged. This was war; people died, and kender too. At the moment, they had their own lives to worry about. Raistlin offered Dalamar his arm and the Dark elf pulled him upright. For a moment the young mage swayed and Dalamar put an arm around his chest to steady him, a shock of pain flashing through his burnt hand at the contact.

Raistlin brought a hand to his forehead, weaving a little unsteadily. "Did someone knock me out?" he whispered. Clearly, although the poison had been neutralised, the residual venom had left him weakened.

Dalamar's hold on his lover tightened a little, and he found himself having to force each word out. "No, they hit you with a dart. Poison."

"Ah." Raistlin gave a small smile, and he lifted his hand to cover the Dark elf's. "And you brought the staff." Still holding the Dark elf's hand, he gently turned it over. The palm was badly burnt, worse than Raistlin's had been. The skin was seared, burnt red and blisters were coming up on his fingers.

Dalamar smiled, ignoring the stabs of pain from the burnt tissue. "Yes, I did." Raistlin's fingers slid down his hand and squeezed his forearm, then reached in his herb pouch.

"Thank you." Raistlin's eyes were lowered, a small smile playing on his lips as he crumbled some herbs between his fingers and spread the paste over Dalamar's burnt hands. It was amazing how much so few words could say.

The Dark elf nodded, feeling the pain start to ebb and the swelling go down a little. The human's words might be seen as little compensation for the scalding on his palms, but he knew how rare thanks were from the human mage. He could say that Raistlin didn't need to thank him, which was true -Dalamar knew Raistlin would have done the same- but he also knew that it would be a waste of breath. Breath that could be better spent on different words.

Stepping behind the other mage, Dalamar laid his head on Raistlin's shoulder. "I love you."

He didn't need to see his lover's face to know he was smiling, nor did he need to hear his voice to know he felt the same way.

He never knew if Raistlin was actually going speak, because Flint, Riverwind, and Sturm chose that moment to run back into the camp, the two humans carrying what looked like the dragon's head. It took a moment for the Dark elf to notice Tasslehoff's legs sticking out of the wooden dragon's maw.

Raistlin tapped him on the shoulder and nodded towards the rest of the group. From their angle, they must have been unable to see anything but the dragon's head through the smoke and the expression were enough to bring back the mad urge to laugh. This time though, he gave in, and Raistlin joined him. The others stared at them in alarm, then turned away quickly.

Sturm took the opportunity to explain that Tasslehoff was stuck inside the dragon's head, then shot the still laughing Raistlin an ugly look. "What's up with him?" he spat. "Still poisoned?"

Tanis shook him head, kneeling down beside the dragon's mouth. "No, he's better."

"A pity." Sturm's lip curled.

Dalamar didn't say anything. Sometimes words were useless. He had always disliked the knight, avoided him if he could, even hated him, but this was the first time to see actively Sturm as an enemy. If he sounded so disappointed in hearing that Raistlin wasn't dead, what was to say he wouldn't actively participate next time? Dalamar would put up with the Solamnic for the moment. However, after this mess was over, he'd make sure the knight would wake up one morning with his throat laid open by the Dark elf's knife.

Nevertheless, for the moment he stood in silence, watching as Caramon ripped the dragon head open and pulled Tasslehoff out. Tanis interrupted the kender's babble about how _wonderful_ the last half-hour had been -had it been only that? Dalamar wondered, it felt like so much longer- and urged them to continue.

It took a while to get everyone moving; they were all shaken, and it was a mark of how weakened Raistlin was that he didn't even argue when the Dark elf gave him his arm to lean on.

And it was only then, when they were all walking, heading towards the now not-so distant ruins of Xak Tsaroth, that Dalamar's eyes locked balefully with Sturm's in a quiet acknowledgement of hatred.

_Skull Bearer._


	9. Of Mythology

_River Majere: Thanks for the review, of course Sturm gets what's coming to him, Kit kills him doesn't she?_

_Dalamar Nightson: Yeah, sorry it took me so long to update!_

_Rose Angel: Thank you._

_Crimsonryu: University's scary, and I'm amazed I can still find time for this!_

_Tsukiyo no Yume: It's surprisingly easy to add Dalamar in, it just takes a bit of tweaking and a lot of things just seem to slot in to place perfectly. Incidentally, I've been wondering, what does your user name mean?_

**Crepuscule**

Chapter nine: Of Mythology

_Take a look into my eyes,  
I tell you so many lies and then I'll let you go into the night  
-Northern Soul, The Verve_

It wasn't the first time Raistlin had been secretly glad of Dalamar's support, but this time he needed it more than any other he had. He felt exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with lack of sleep, and if not for the Dark elf's arm around his shoulders, he was sure he would have fallen before long.

The terrain was not helping either; the solid ground had once again given way to marsh, and this time there were no bridges spanning the murk. The water reached up to their waists in places, and Raistlin didn't bother to even look annoyed when Dalamar picked him up and carried him over the deepest spots. The very smell of the marsh was making him feel sick, and getting his whole body wet would be a very bad idea.

By even with the Dark elf's help, it was only a matter of time before he collapsed.

He'd been using his staff to check his way forward though the knee-deep water, carefully probing through the water to test the ground, when there suddenly didn't seem to _be_ any ground. The staff sunk into the murk up to the crystal. Raistlin, off-balance and dizzy, lost his footing and fell down face-first into the filthy water.

The cold shot through him like a lightning bolt, throwing iron bands around his chest. Somehow, he maganged to get his head up before he started coughing and inhaled any of the water, hanging onto Dalamar's arm to pull himself upright. The Dark elf helped him up, brushing strands of sodden white hair out of his eyes. Raistlin shivered, then started to cough, choking up blood and swamp water.

Beside them, Sturm Brightblade sneered. Behind them, Caramon stepped forward, eager to offer help, as always. Now thoroughly sick both with the group and with this whole blasted trek, Raistlin pulled away from his brother, starting forward with as much speed as his soaked robes and shattered body would allow.

It took an hour before they reached firm ground. The young mage sank gratefully to the grassy earth; beside him, Dalamar also sat down. In any other situation, the Dark elf would have insisted Raistlin take his cloak, but here he was in just the same state. The elf's clothes were as wet as Raistlin's and he had pieces of swamp-grass in his hair. Raistlin smiled slightly as he reached up to pluck the slimy strands off his lover. If Dalamar looked bad, he must look worse, not to mention that he had lost all his equipment save for his spellbook and staff. He would have lost the latter as well, if not for the enchantment Magius had put on it that let it return on its own accord.

A cold wind started up, and once again Raistlin's cough doubled him over, as he mentally cursed Fistandantilus for every spasm. He could feel Dalamar's hands against his back, shockingly warm under the damp fabric, rubbing firmly until the spasm passed. When he could once again draw breath, he scooted back against the Dark elf, sharing body heat and turning around to thank him.

The mist had lifted, blown away by the strong easterly wind, until Raistlin could see the mountains they had left behind. And beyond them...

Despite the ache present in every muscle, despite the cold that made his very bones shake, despite the crushing urge to sleep, Raistlin struggled to his feet again, dragging on Dalamar's hand to urge the Dark elf to do the same. Grey eyes stared at him in shock. "Raistlin-"

The human mage pointed up. "Storm clouds-" Gods, could that be his voice? "They come from the north. We have no time. No time! We must reach Xak Tsaroth. Hurry! Before the moon sets!"

Storm clouds. Yes, that was the best description. But no clouds could ever be so thick, so black. No clouds could ever move so fast, not to mention against the wind! And the storm that would come from them would be like nothing anyone had every seen or imagined.

Fistandantilus's influence had had a strange effect on him. Sometimes, on days where his cough left him mostly alone and he had something to keep himself occupied, he could almost forget about the old lich. It was rare that the dead mage interfered, rarer still when Raistlin deliberately drew on Fistandantilus's power. Yet either through the ancient mage's meddling or through his own, Raistlin had developed -or unlocked- something odd, something that whispered of the present, the future, and outcomes. He didn't know where it could have come from, whether it was Fistandantilus' power or perhaps something of his own- prescience perhaps, inherited from his mother.

The whispers had never been louder than they were now. They _had_ to get to Xak Tsaroth. The consequences if they didn't would be catastrophic.

Somehow, his choked words made them all understand. Everyone slowly got to their feet and started to walk. Raistlin refused Dalamar's offer of support this time; the Dark elf was a little better off than he was, and the Red Robe had a feeling that they wouldn't have to go far.

He was right. Before long, they came across an obelisk. It had clearly once been a monument of some sort, but now it served as a bridge over the last stretch of muddy water. Raistlin knelt down beside it, lighting his staff to peer intently at the writing engraved over its surface.

Sturm was furious. "You've just told everything in a twenty mile radius that we're here!" he hissed.

Raistlin didn't even bother to stare down the knight, although he had a feeling that Dalamar hadn't been able to resist the temptation. A few moments later, the Dark elf joined him in translating the spidery writing.

It was hard going; the obelisk must have been ancient, and the writing dated back to before the Cataclysm. Here and there, the runes were cracked and flaking, hard to read, and the mages often had to pause for a whispered discussion over some particularly obscure or damaged word. Still they had to read it. They _had_ to know if this was indeed the place they had spent all night searching for.

When they had finished, Raistlin sat back on his haunches, sharing an ironic look with Dalamar. Upon Tanis' questioning look, he read aloud- "'The Great City of Xak Tsaroth, whose beauty surrounds you, speaks to the good of its people and their generous deeds. The gods reward us in the grace of our home,'" he sneered and looked around at the desolate swamp. "A reward indeed."

Goldmoon shuddered. "How awful."

Dalamar spoke, a cold smile twitching his thin lips. "This place is dead, and has been for a long time. Nothing we can do to help. But unless you want _other_ homes to end up looking like this-" he waved a hand around the forbidding clearing- "and I'm sure you don't, I suggest we get moving."

Goldmoon looked at the Dark elf in surprise, she'd probably been expecting a far more vicious remark, then nodded.

Raistlin stood up, muscles protesting, then raised his staff. "Dulak."

The night seemed even darker.

* * *

Were not for Riverwind, Raistlin knew they would have been hopelessly lost within the hour. But the Plainsman seemed to know exactly where to go, all the trails to take. Here and there, they saw broken pieces of masonry, and something far more worrying -clawed footprints. Finally however, the trees opened out and they found themselves on a stretch of cobbles.

Raistlin smiled at Dalamar. "The outskirts of Xak Tsaroth." At last, they had reached it. The Dark elf smiled back, though the expression was strained; clearly the memory of Riverwind's tale was foremost in his mind.

Still, whatever this 'death on black wings' was, it couldn't have picked a more dismal place to live. Xak Tsaroth was in worse condition than Que-shu. The streets were cracked and broken, and often lead nowhere; broken pieces of masonry dotted the place; and there was only one building left that hadn't been reduced to its foundations.

It was this building they were heading towards, stopping only briefly to inspect a well in the hopes of finding fresh water. Judging by the smell however, some animal had probably fallen down it and died. But what animal, when there were none to be seen or even heard? The city was as silent as a tomb.

They walked through the desolation of the once beautiful city, a city destroyed by the foolishness of a man who, long ago, was arrogant enough to place himelf above the gods. They were closer to the only surviving building now. It was constructed of white stone, pockmarked with age. Pillars rose up to support the large domed roof and the double doors gleamed in the dim light of Solinari.

As beautiful as the place was, Raistlin felt a bone-deep sense of foreboding as they approached. Beside him, he felt Dalamar tightening his hand around his forearm.

"That was a temple to the ancient gods," Raistlin whispered ironically.

Dalamar nodded, lip curling. "I'm not going in there." A pause. "And neither are you."

The human mage sighed, he should have expected this. "We have to go."

"Why? So that some more skeletons can animate and finish what the spectres couldn't? No, I would rather chance the Plainsman's nightmare than go inside."

"I know, but we have to take the risk." Raistlin rubbed his forehead. "Whatever is in there-"

"-Will never welcome us," Dalamar finished firmly. "Let Half-human and the others go in. They are the play-heroes after all. Remember the welcome we had at Darken Wood."

"There may no even _be_ any guardians," Raistlin commented, smiling thinly.

The Dark elf laughed, "Look around you Raistlin! This place has been razed and we have seen draconian tracks everywhere. Do you think they would have left the temple alone if there wasn't something keeping them away?"

From behind them, Flint called out, "We're here mage, what now?"

Raistlin ignored him. "Dalamar, Riverwind got the staff from this place, most likely from that temple. And that staff, need I add, saved your life in Darken Wood. I sincerely doubt whatever controls it would have saved you then in order to kill you now."

The elf was just about to argue when Tasslehoff shouted from behind them, "Draconian!"

The two mages spun around. The creature was perched on the rim of the well, looking balefully at them. At the kender's shout, it spread its wings and leaped into the well.

"Stop it!" Tanis yelled. "It will alert others!"

Raistlin hurried over and looked down. The draconian was still in sight, floating down into the darkness. The mage raised a hand to cast a spell, but each thought scraped over his nerves like sandpaper. Gods, he was so _tired_...

Dalamar knelt by him, shaking his head; he too was out of both spells and energy. An arm went around his shoulders, and they both sat down, backs against the wall, drawing warmth from each other's bodies.

Another shudder passed through the younger mage's frail body, and he sat up sharply. The whisper that had had warned him of the storm clouds was screaming now. Deep under the earth, he could almost feel the threat waking, uncoiling, rushing up...

Dalamar shook his shoulder, clearly wondering what was wrong.

Tanis was speaking, "We're _all_ tired. If something's down there, the draconian warned it. There's nothing we can do now. We've got to rest."

Raistlin stared at Tanis. The whisper, though no longer shrieking, was still there. "The draconian_ has_ gone to warn something, can't you feel it? Evil about to awaken and come forth." His voice was a whisper.

The silence was complete.

Tasslehoff had climbed up on the edge of the well and was peering down inside with interest. "Look, the draconian is floating down, just like a leaf. Its wings don't flap-"

"Be quiet!" Tanis and Dalamar spoke at the same time, voices taut with fear. So, they felt it too, the building fear that had nothing to do with the whisper hissing in the young mage's mind. Raistlin stumbled to his feet; no force on Krynn could have forced him to stay there another moment. Slowly, as to not draw any more notice from the unknown terror inside the well, he backed away.

Dalamar had no such qualms. The Dark elf had clearly decided that whatever was inside there already knew they were there, so the only issue was to get as far away as possible, as quickly as possible. He dragged on Raistlin's shoulder, wordlessly urging him to go, to run, to get _away_ from this place.

"Get him away from there!" Raistlin screamed, pointing at the kender, his voice thin and unrecognisable with dread.

The Half-elf hadn't taken two steps towards Tasslehoff when the ground started to shake. Raistlin could feel the tremors through the soles to his boots.

The Plainsman grabbed the kender before he was shaken loose as the wall around the well started to crumble.

The ground churned again, more violently and Dalamar had to grab hold of a shattered pillar to avoid being thrown off his feet. Around them, the ruins cracked and shuddered.

A blast of freezing air erupted from the pit, and even from where they were standing, the two mages gagged at the foul stench, Raistlin coughing hoarsely.

"Run!"

The Dark elf grabbed hold of his wrist and broke into a run, dragging the young mage behind him. Behind them, the moan of escaping air heightened to a shriek so high it was barely audible, piecing the skull like a chisel blade.

In his hand, the Staff of Magius burnt hot enough to blister, as hot as the fire that had engulfed the black, wooden, and above all _fake_ dragon.

A staff which sole purpose was to destroy one _specific_ type of creature...

A staff that had only been needed now...

Somehow, Raistlin knew what was coming before he saw it.

The stones of the well started to slide inwards. Tanis screamed at Riverwind to run, he was too close. The ground shook hard enough to shatter a nearby pillar and heaved up around the pit. The well seemed the shrink closed for a moment, then burst open, masonry flying in all directions and the ebon-black dragon exploded from the mouth.

Raistlin couldn't speak, and for once, his lack of breath had nothing to do with his cough. The wyrm was clear of the well now, the tail lashing the ruined remains of the wall. The lithe body shone with an oily patina of colours, the ash of the clouds, the bone-white of Solinari, the blood of Lunitari. A funeral rainbow streaking up.

As some point, Raistlin realised he was on the ground, although he couldn't remember falling over. Dalamar's hand was a death-grip on his shoulder, and the staff burnt dully in his hand, its angry flare a lone beacon of defiance in the terror of the moment.

It was only now, with the dragon high above them, that he realised the sheer size of the creature. Nose to tail it was as tall as a vallenwood, its body thicker than any of the branches that supported the Inn of the Last Home. Its head alone was larger than Caramon.

The dragon was _huge_.

Huddled together, the two mages just stared at the circling wyrm. Raistlin couldn't remember ever being so frightened, not all the years spent as a mercenary, not even during the Test.

A part of his mind, a part that wasn't gibbering in paralytic terror, remembered the book he had taken from Theobald's study, when dragons had been little more than a rumour and not a living -breathing!- fact; '_A dragon is surrounded by an aura of terror potent enough to paralyse the most fearless man. This Dragonfear is magical in origin and can be fended off by the strong willed.' _He didn't know how he'd remembered that paragraph, but 'fear' was a poor understatement compared to the mind churning terror he was struggling to control, a panic so sharp it was almost physical pain.

Higher and higher, the wyrm circled. Then it spoke.

Just one word.

"_Dulak_."

Just one word was all it took, one word of the language of magic spoken in a voice so cold it froze the air to icicles.

It was as if the jet storm clouds above them had fallen from the sky to swallow them. The lack of light was utter and complete, darker than any night, any shuttered room. It was the darkness of the void between the stars.

It was the darkness of being buried alive.

Raistlin threw himself down, suddenly certain that the dragon would sweep down, silent as an owl, and tear them both to pieces.

When the dragon did attack however, it was with a shriek that split the sky like a vocal lightning bolt, its wings a shrieking hurricane as it dived. The young mage dug his fingers into the soft fabric of Dalamar's robes and shut his useless eyes.

The sound came from behind them, but to Raistlin's panic-addled mind the shrieks seemed to come from right above. Then a thunderous hiss, like steam released from a monstrous kettle, spat out. A moment later, it was drowned out by cracks and pops of stones as they split under the assault.

The young wizard remember the melted stones in Que-shu, and buried his face in Dalamar's shoulder.

The crackle grew louder, like wet wood in a roaring fire, then it in turn was drowned out by a terrible scream. Raistlin clamped his hands over his ears to keep out the dreadful sound, hearing it echo inside his skull long after it had died away.

Finally, the ground he was lying on bucked up like a mad horse, shuddering several times before slowly growing still.

The silence was even more deafening than the previous chaos.

When the darkness lifted, the two mages sat up, unwilling to let go of each other. Raistlin's shoulder ached where Dalamar's nails had bitten though the skin and bruised the muscle.

The well was a ruin, now little more than a gaping hole in the earth, and the rest of the group was scattered all around the courtyard around it. He and Dalamar had managed to get the furthest away. Morbidly, Raistlin wondered who had been the one to scream.

It didn't take long to find out, though they had to guess as to his identity. Tanis, Caramon, and Sturm were unharmed; the figure was too tall to be Flint or Tasslehoff, and Goldmoon had vanished even before the dragon had awakened. So that left...

"Riverwind," Tanis moaned.

The Plainsman no longer resembled anything human. The flesh had been scraped off him so that his face was little more than a skull, jelly-filled pits marking where his eyes had been and his lipless mouth fixed in an eternal, ghastly grin. The man's ribcage had been laid bare, yet somehow the organs within it were untouched, pulsing horribly under Lunitari's light.

Raistlin was almost grateful when the remaining flesh slowly melted from the man's bones, and those crumbled to dust and ashes.

Dalamar, however, did not have the luxury of Raistlin's eyes; the Dark elf had turned his head away, a hand to his forehead, nails digging into the skin as if wishing he could physically tear the terrible image out of his mind.

The cadaver's hand twitched suddenly, plucking at empty air. Sturm exclaimed in horror.

"End it!" Tanis looked as it was about to be sick. "End it! Sturm-"

The young mage turned away as the knight started a slow chant, looking to the living rather than the dead.

Dalamar had still not looked around; his eyes were closed and he was rubbing the bridge of his nose. He noticed Raistlin's attention and looked at him, being careful not to lay eyes on Riverwind's mangled body. "To think-" he murmured in an emotionless voice. "To think that it could have been one of _us_!"

Raistlin lay a hand on his lover's shoulder, trying to offer what comfort he could to the shaken elf. "It wasn't, nor would it have been. Had he run-" Raistlin jerked his hand at Riverwind- "he wouldn't have been caught in it. He was a fool not to."

Behind him, he didn't notice Sturm's shocked pause in his chant, nor the look the Solamnic shot at him.

Nothing escaped Dalamar's keen eyes, though, and the young mage saw a flash of rage blaze across the Dark elf's grimly handsome face.

Then, from behind them, came a new voice. One Raistlin had not imagined to hear, and certainly not so calm.

"Stop. Bring him to me."

Goldmoon was standing in the temple doorway.

* * *

This time around, Raistlin had little trouble in convincing Dalamar to enter the temple. Whatever guardians the ancient gods had within, nothing could compare to the nightmare outside that might return at any time. The Dark elf didn't speak, just followed the young mage inside.

The temple was a light, airy place that somehow seemed to press down on Raistlin like a dead weight. The rafters of the place were lost in shadow, too dark for the Staff's light to find them, yet to him it was as if they were scant feet off the ground. Everything in the place seemed to press down, much as it had been in Darken Wood. The message too was the same _You are not welcome. Begone_.

Raistlin reached back and caught Dalamar's hand in his own. Whatever he was feeling, it would be immeasurably worse for his lover.

The Dark elf was scowling into the shadows, his jaw set, a defiant expression set on his thin features.

But when Raistlin took his hand, he felt the trembling Dalamar was trying desperately to conceal.

Before them were Half-elven, then Caramon and Sturm, the two humans carrying Riverwind on a makeshift litter. Flint and an unusually sombre Tasslehoff walked on either side. Now and again, one of them would glance back and shoot the two mages a look, which ran the gamut from 'Are you alright?' (Caramon) to 'Go away, we don't want you here' (Sturm).

The little procession stopped in front of the towering statue of a stern-faced woman in flowing robes, and once again, Raistlin knew that the others would be seeing different things. But it didn't matter, because soon it would all shatter and crack and be nothing but dust on the floor.

Yet somehow, it didn't age. Untouched by time and Raistlin's curse, the statue stood as still as any of the pillars. Surprised, the young mage looked closer. An amulet hung around the statue's neck, the holy symbol of one of the old Gods, he recalled, racking his brain to remember which one. Healing. The Goddess of healing. Mishakal.

In the statue's hand was the Blue Crystal Staff.

Goldmoon stood underneath the statue's outstretched hands. "Remove the blanket." Her voice was distant as she gestured towards the bedroll that had been used to cover Riverwind's body. Already blood was seeping through the thick fabric.

Tanis tried to protest, but before he could speak more than a word, Raistlin stepped forward and tore the blanket off. Let them look upon death as he did.

Again, he missed Sturm's expression, and how the knight's hand twitched towards his sword.

But nothing escaped those silver eyes.

Goldmoon went as pale as the statue. Shakily, she took the staff from the marble hands of the Goddess and stepped towards Riverwind, whispering softly in her own tongue.

The Plainsman's terribly burnt hands twitched again, as if he had sensed her. Then, with a final shudder, he lay still.

Ignoring the tears that streamed down her face, Goldmoon silently laid the staff across the Plainsman's body. Once again the staff glowed blue, brighter than it ever had, shining beams of light around the temple, lighting up all their faces.

Only Raistlin and Dalamar, standing in the darkness, it didn't touch.

But when the light died away and all that was left were bright shadows under their eyelids, Riverwind was unhurt and alive, curled up against Goldmoon, both of them weeping with joy.

Still holding the Plainsman, Goldmoon raised her head, looking at the other. She smiled, her eyes still filled with tears, and pressed a kiss against her beloved's forehead.

Tanis's jaw was hanging open, eyes nearly popping from his skull. Clearly, while the Half-elf could accept minor healing, resurrection was something else entirely.

Caramon and Flint were little better off, still standing beside the stretcher, thunderstruck.

Sturm was muttering to himself, presumably a prayer of some kind.

Only Raistlin, Dalamar and Tasslehoff were not left speechless. The mages because they had read about such miracles in tomes dating from before the Cataclysm, although to be honest this was something Raistlin had only heard of in the most obscure myths. As for Tasslehoff, well, nothing _ever_ fazed a kender.

"How..." Tanis' voice trailed off.

Goldmoon looked up at the statue above them, a small smile on her tear-stained face. "She showed me the truth: the Gods never turned away from man, it is we who turned away from them. They waited, waited for someone to call them in truth and need." She reached down and stroke Riverwind's hair gently. "Then, they would be there to answer."

"The statue...?" Tanis was completely lost.

"The Goddess. Mishakal," Goldmoon murmured.

"Goddess of Healing," Raistlin added, nodding.

Half-elven looked from the statue to the healed Riverwind and shook his head in amazement. "Obviously."

"What did the Goddess tell you, Plainswoman?" Raistlin asked softly.

Goldmoon paused, looking up again at the marble face of Mishakal. "She told me... She told me that Krynn was in great danger, that the Gods of Evil had also returned. The dragon outside... There are others... They have returned as well."

"The Gods of Evil," Dalamar breathed. "Remember the coins."

The steel coins with the head of Takhisis. Yes, Raistlin remembered.

Tanis's voice was hoarse when he spoke; "But... that creature... Goldmoon, how are we supposed to defeat such as _that_?"

The Plainswoman looked down at Riverwind. He was unhurt, but still shaken. A spasm of pain crossed her face before she turned back to Tanis -so she was not as unaffected as she had appeared to be, tears or no, Raistlin noted. Interesting. Of course, in her place, he would have felt the same.

"The 'greatest gift' we were told about is hidden here, in the catacombs under the city-" Where the dragon is, Raistlin thought. How surprising. "They are the key to stopping this. With them, we will not need the Staff to call upon the Goddess' aid. She named them the 'Disks of Mishakal'."

"Did she tell you where they were?" By the look on his face, Dalamar had reached the same conclusion as Raistlin.

Goldmoon nodded and, to her credit, she showed no fear, only determination. "They are within the dragon's lair. Without them-" She raised a hand to forestall the inevitable arguments "-we will stand no chance."

Raistlin heard something suspiciously close to "We have no chance anyway" coming from Flint.

Goldmoon either didn't hear the dwarf or ignored him, because she continued as if he hadn't spoke, "And so, we must find a way down into the ruined city that lies somewhere below the temple, and we must remove the disks from the dragon's lair."

* * *

It was only now, when everyone had calmed down and they were ready to eat a frugal dinner, that Raistlin took the opportunity to ask Dalamar, "May I borrow one of your spellbooks, please?"

The Dark elf raised an eyebrow, smiling. "They are as much yours as mine, you were the one to find them." Nevertheless, he reached into his pack and pulled out the three books the young mage had rescued from his Test. Raistlin had never told his lover the truth about the books, such would be impossible without mentioning Fistandantilus, which he would not do. Instead, he simply told the Dark elf that finding the books had been the goal of his Test, which was true enough. He had come across a passage in one of them that interested him greatly.

Raistlin had read about Xak Tsaroth before, although, as the books dated prior to the Cataclysm, this was of little use, at least on the surface. When underground, he had a feeling it would become far more important.

But it was not that old tome, now probably mouldering in his old tutor's study, that drew his attention, but a reference he had read in the smallest of the spellbooks. It had several pages dedicated, not to spells, but to the history of someone Raistlin knew all too well.

Fistandantilus.

He flicked through the pages, finally stopping on the one he wanted. The author believed that in his younger- living!- years, the Archmage had actually lived in Xak Tsaroth for a while, even leaving one of his early spellbooks there when he left.

Raistlin closed the books, deep in thought. If the spellbook was still there -and he was quite sure of it, Fistandantilus would certainly not leave the book where just anyone would find it- and supposing it had survived the Cataclysm -again, very likely, since few spellbooks were without a some wards to protect them- where would it be?

The answer was obvious. Such a prize was invaluable, especially if you could cast spells.

And the dragon, as they had all seen, could indeed cast spells.

Such a book would be worth a great deal to get hold of; spellbooks were very rare and if the one question had once belonged to a more powerful mage you were planning to destroy one day... well, then it was worth even more.

"Well?" Dalamar asked. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

Raistlin shrugged, telling the Dark elf that he had thought the book might have some references to Xak Tsaroth. It was a lie, and one he felt more than slightly ashamed about, but didn't admit to. It was true enough in its own right.

There was little enough to eat, and Raistlin spent the time picking idly at his food, listening and watching the others. As only Tasslehoff, Flint and Dalamar had managed to retain their belongings, the food was limited.

Caramon vanished for a time, only to come back and report that he had found a half-ruined staircase leading down into the wreaked city below.

Tasslehoff also had left, spending some time picking in the corners of the room before coming back with a new helmet for Flint. Apparently, the previous one had been lost in the swamp.

Otherwise, it was a quiet meal. Dalamar too ate little, and the young wizard suspected the Dark elf hadn't entirely believed his story about the books. The soft sigh of the nearby sea whispered through the columns of the temple as they ate.

When it was finished, they started preparing to spend the night in the temple. They were all exhausted and nobody wanted to risk sleeping outside. Sturm offered to take first watch.

"No one need keep watch this night." Goldmoon's voice was soft. "We are safe here."

"That's debatable," Dalamar muttered, glancing over his shoulder at the statue of Mishakal, making Raistlin wonder what the Dark elf saw when he laid eyes on the depiction of the Goddess.

"No, we _are_ safe here." Although, to be honest, at this point Raistlin could have slept on nails. "We may be unwelcome here, but we are not in danger." He took hold of Dalamar's hand and squeezed it. "Come, I am tired and I always sleep better with you beside me."

This was more than enough to make Dalamar crack a smile. "Very well, but if you're wrong, I will be holding you personally responsible."

Raistlin smiled back, and the two retreated into the shadows at the back of the temple. It took a moment to unpack their bedroll – he was very thankful that Dalamar had been the one to carry it, or they would be submitted to a very uncomfortable night indeed on the bare flagstones of the floor.

Dalamar gave a soft sigh, breaking Raistlin out of the half-sleep he had drifted into. He was laying on top of the Dark elf, his head pillowed on his lover's chest and with Dalamar's fingers toying with his hair. Sweet.

"What is it?" he whispered sleepily.

He couldn't see the Dark elf's smile, but he knew it was there. "I wish we were back in Solace."

Raistlin shook his head; what had brought this on? "So do I, why?"

Dalamar's hands tracked down under the blankets and stroked the young mage's back sensuously. "Solace," he continued. "Or anywhere with some privacy, really."

This time the Dark elf was answered with a kiss. "As I said, so do I."

"It's been far too long, if this keeps up I may just have to find a quiet corner and try not to make too much noise."

Raistlin laughed softly, "When we both have enough energy to do so, that is."

"Hmm, of course." The hands running up and down his back paused, nails digging in teasingly. "And to think we planned this as a holiday."

The young mage kissed him again, but this time the Dark elf was the one to pull back. "Don't. If you go on I won't be able to stop myself, and I don't especially want that band of idiots-" Dalamar waved a hand over to where Sturm was keeping watch- "to overhear."

The human mage sighed and nodded, he was too tired anyway. Raistlin scooted back down to his previous position and closed his eyes. He had a feeling that whatever they would meet underground, it would prove a bigger problem than lack of privacy, and they would need all their faculties in order to face it.

_Skull Bearer._


	10. Of Friends

_Scarlet dragon: Glad to hear it._

_Tsukiyo no Yume: I'm glad to know you liked that image, I was worried it might be a little too poetic.  
Oh, they'll get their privacy, but in the end someone is going to be traumatised, someone a lot more deserving than poor Tas._

_Dalamar Nightson: Out of the group, Tasslehoff's the only one (besides Raistlin of course) who isn't unpleasent towards Dalamar, he is, however, very annoying._

**Crepuscule**

Chapter ten- Of Friends

_And I don't think I'm coming down  
-Northern Soul, The Verve._

Raistlin was already awake by the time Dalamar drifted back to himself. The young mage was curled up beside him, clearly unwilling to leave the warm comfort of the bedroll.

To be honest, the elf wasn't so sure he wanted to either. The temple was chilly in the air of dawn, the breeze carrying hints of autumn cold from outside. Who then, would want to move, particularly when your present surroundings were so pleasant? Dalamar could feel the knobbles of Raistlin's backbone against his chest, and he stroked one hand down his lover's tender body.

As if sensing the Dark elf was awake, Raistlin rolled over, smiling. He's been flicking through that book again, Dalamar noted, barely hiding a frown. He didn't believe for a moment that Raistlin had told him the whole truth last night, but was confident -or at least, hoping- that he would tell him when the time came.

What _was_ he looking for? The tome had very few references to Xak Tsaroth, and anyway the books dated from before the Cataclysm, so what they could offer was limited. Dalamar stifled his sigh, pushed the thoughts from his mind, and lent in close for a good-morning kiss.

The two mages were the only ones up at this time, even Sturm lounged against the wall, snoring.

Raistlin and Dalamar exchanged glances. "If this is how Solamnics keep watch, no wonder their order's in ruins!" the Dark elf snickered.

The human mage smiled back and shook his head before changing the subject. "May I borrow your cup? Mine was in my pack, and I need my tea."

Dalamar nodded and handed over the wooden mug. "A coughing fit while fighting a dragon would be a bad idea."

Raistlin laughed softly. "I'm more worried about having one when trying to _hide _from the dragon. We best leave dragonslaying to brainless oafs like my brother and honour bound fools like Sturm."

The two mages sat down and the younger one pulled out his belt pouch, starting to grind up the ingredients he needed for his tea.

Dalamar looked over at the still slumbering knight. To think he could just creep up now... One swift slash and that particular threat would be ended. Raistlin wouldn't argue, he'd be just as glad to see the back of the Solamnic. Then, they could just throw his body down the well and no one would be any the wiser...

The Dark elf shook himself. He'd be a fool if he thought he could get away with murder in a goodly temple, and anyway, they might need the knight, if only as a diversion. Still, the thought of going into battle with the Solamnic at his back was a deeply disconcerting one.

He only hoped to Nuitari that his lover was right and it wouldn't come to fighting.

Raistlin had finished preparing his drink and swallowed it down with a grimace. Dalamar wrinkled his nose. If the tea tasted as bad as it smelled, then he really felt sorry for the human wizard.

They were halfway through breakfast when everyone else started waking up -or rather, Dalamar was. Raistlin had eaten only a few scraps of bread despite the Dark elf's insistence that he should eat more, then settled back with his spellbook.

Dalamar sighed, finished his own meal, then did the same, sitting back to back with the younger mage. Fight or not, they would need every spell they knew in the upcoming struggle.

By the time the last member of the group -Tanis- had woken up and eaten, the arcane symbols had burnt themselves in the elven mage's mind. Raistlin's took a little longer, but then he had more to memorise.

Dalamar felt a curious pang at that thought. Yes, he knew his lover had taken the Test while he himself had yet to be called, but it was strange to see the power difference starting to assert itself. He looked back down at his spellbook, at the familiar arcane symbols etched there. Whatever happens, he assured himself, it won't drive us apart. I _won't_ let it drive us apart.

"Well, I'm all set," Caramon called from near the doors.

"We, too, are ready." Goldmoon's voice came from behind them, probably from near the statue.

The dark mage recalled the cold, forbidding expression carved into the marble and decided against turning around. His spellbook was carefully replaced in his pack and stood, stretching muscles grown stiff in the cool air.

Raistlin got up too, rubbing his shoulders.

Everyone else was on their feet, checking over their weapons -mostly ones stolen from the draconian camp. Tanis had a longbow, some arrows, a longsword, and a dagger. Sturm had been able to retain his ancient sword. Caramon had a battered shield and a scrounged blade. Even Flint and Tasslehoff were armed; the dwarf had found a battle-axe and the kender a small dagger. Goldmoon had her staff and Riverwind a draconian sword. As for himself and Raistlin, he had his dagger -by some mercy it hadn't fallen out of his boot in the chaos of the previous evening- and Raistlin had his staff.

Dalamar had a nasty feeling that the only enchanted weapons they had between them were his dagger, Raistlin and Goldmoon's staves, and possibly Sturm's sword. It wasn't a pleasant realisation.

By the look on Half-human's face, he had come to the same conclusion.

They didn't leave through the door leading to the well, but through a pair of double doors to the east instead. The passageway led them to a circular room with a crumbling staircase leading down. Something seemed familiar about this place; Dalamar was sure he had read about it before, although it was only when Raistlin said the name that he recalled it. "The Paths of the Dead."

Dalamar nodded, that was it. "The stair to the old crypts -The Hall of the Ancestors."

"How in the name of Reorx do you know that?" Flint's voice growled.

"Unlike you," Dalamar snarled, "we actually know how to read."

"This is the first time we've heard of it," Sturm's cold tone cut in from ahead of them. "What else do you know that you haven't told us?"

"A great many things, knight." Like Dalamar, Raistlin had also heard the threat in the Solamnic's voice. He wondered if the human mage had also felt the danger in the whole situation; they were, after all, surrounded by people who he couldn't trust as far as he could throw them. "While you and my brother played with wooded swords, I spent my time in study." Clearly not.

The Dark elf put a hand on his lover's shoulder, warning him not to push too much.

"Yes, the study of that which is dark and mysterious -and evil. What really happened in the Tower of High Sorcery, Raistlin? What happened there that you won't even tell _him_ about it? What did you sacrifice in that Tower? Your health -or your soul?"

Dalamar's grip on Raistlin's shoulder had to be painful. The knight's sneering words had struck too close to the bone, and the Silvanesti was almost overwhelmed with the desire to throw the pompous, arrogant, _dangerous_ Solamnic down the steps. He briefly wished he had gotten rid Sturm when he'd had the chance.

"Sturm!" Caramon's voice broke in while Dalamar was still unable to answer. "I trust my brother, and I believe he has a good reason not to tell us what happened to him, right?"

Raistlin's death's-head grin was the only answer.

"I trust him," Caramon repeated, with a baleful glance at the elven wizard to show just how much the big man trusted _him_. "You may trust my brother as you trust me."

Dalamar was sure he was the only one to see his lover's sneer, after all, he was the only one who was meant to.

Sturm's face was set, and it was clear that while he knew he could rely on Caramon, his emotions towards Raistlin remained hostile. The disgust and contempt on his face were impossible to mistake. "You should be thankful you have such a loyal brother," he said stiffly, then hissed, "But I am not so easy to fool," before starting on down the steps once again.

The Red Robe didn't say anything to the knight, nor did he move, but lowered his voice and spoke softly to Dalamar, "Caramon can eat his pretty words, it's not worth putting up with him."

The Dark elf smiled despite the hate still boiling inside him. "Still, he would make a wonderful target," he whispered back. "Just think, with such as him and Sturm on the menu, do you think the dragon would bother with us? We're far too scrawny."

Raistlin's hand came up to hide his smile.

Tanis broke in, oblivious to the previous conversation, "Can you guide us through this place?"

"I could have," Raistlin shrugged, "if we had come here prior to the Cataclysm. The books Dalamar and I studied dated back hundreds of years. During the Cataclysm, when the fiery mountain struck Krynn, the city of Xak Tsaroth was cast down the side of a cliff. We recognised the staircase because it is still intact. As for beyond-" Another shrug.

"Where do the stairs lead?"

"To the Hall of the Ancestors," Dalamar put in. "Where priests and kings were buried." He sighed. "More of the dead."

Raistlin's hand took his own and squeezed.

"Lets get moving," Caramon called from further back. "All we're doing is scaring ourselves."

The younger wizard nodded. "Yes. We must go and go quickly. We have until nightfall. By tomorrow, this city will be overrun by the armies moving from the north."

Dalamar remembered the unnatural storm clouds of the previous night and agreed. Armies or not, _something_ was coming out of the north, and it would be best not to be here when it arrived.

The Solamnic clearly didn't think so. "You may know lots of things as you claim, mage." His eyes narrowed. "And more than you're letting on, I'm sure, but you couldn't have learnt that from a book." The knight paused, making it completely clear where he though Raistlin might have learnt it from. "But Caramon is right -we've stayed here for too long."

Once again, Sturm started down the stairs, twin stares boring into his back.

"He would kill us," Raistlin whispered as they themselves began to walk down the slimy steps.

"I would kill him," Dalamar answered, his grey eyes locked on the Solamnic's back.

The Red Robe tightened his grip on the Dark elf's hand and looked him in the face. "I could almost believe you would," he said sadly.

* * *

The stairway crawled deeper and deeper into the hillside. At first, it was so dark that even with the light from Raistlin's staff they feared for their footing, but after a while, the way grew clearer, and before long, he was able to extinguish the light from his staff.

They stopped at the end of a short passageway. The sound of falling water thundering close by, and something else. Dalamar's keen ears picked out the sharp crack of a whip within the roar. Then a scraping noise followed by a screech that put his teeth on end.

Tasslehoff was sent ahead to scout. The kender pushed open the door at the end of the passage and scuttled out. Raistlin risked a quick glance into the room beyond the door.

"The Hall of Ancestors." He nodded. "Although 'the Hall of Ruins' seems more fitting."

"Shh!" Sturm glowered.

A thumping noise started ahead of them, loud enough to make the walls shake. Tasslehoff came running back just as a troop of small, hunched figures hurried past. But either they didn't see the group, or else didn't care because they were out of sight in seconds.

Dalamar and Raistlin exchanged a puzzled glance, neither having a clue what these odd creatures had been. Neither, apparently, did anyone else. It was only when they had started following the figures that that particular mystery was solved. Flint sniffed the air, turned as purple as a beetroot, and unslung his axe. The creatures had been gully dwarves, and they had apparently kept Flint prisoner for three years.

Raistlin and Dalamar didn't dare look at each other, it was hard enough as it was to keep a straight face. "Slaves," Raistlin said, visibly biting back a smile. "Undoubtedly, the gully dwarves have lived here for many years, probably ever since the city was abandoned. When the draconians were sent, perhaps to guard the Disks, they found the gully dwarves and used them as slave labour." The young mage tapped a finger against his lips. "They might be able to help us," he mused.

Flint exploded. "Gully dwarves! You'd trust-"

"Of course not," Dalamar sneered. "But I'm sure they'd be very happy to see their slavemasters gone, and if we steal the Disks, then the draconians will have no reason to stay."

Raistlin nodded, but the dwarf snorted and stomped back to his place in line, muttering dire warnings all the way.

Leaving Tanis and Sturm to convince Flint, the two mages crept forward. A thick white mist fogged the southern end of the room, stinking of filth and stagnant water.

Raistlin started coughing and leant against the wall, struggling not to make too much noise. Dalamar took him by the arm and pulled him forward.

The cracking noise sounded suddenly, but much closer, and from behind them came the sound of pounding feet.

"Gully dwarves!" Ah, so Flint _had _come along in the end.

"Damn," Dalamar swore.

But the gully dwarves -or Aghar, as they called themselves- ignored the group. Even when Caramon stood in the middle of the passageway they only swarmed around him and kept running.

Raistlin was smiling harshly. "Slaves."

Dalamar nodded. "That noise was a whip."

They followed the band of gully dwarves and found themselves in a narrow corridor, lit by torches. The air was even harder to breath here, and the human wizard had to pause a moment to open his pouch, inhaling the scent of the herbs to help him breath. It did help, and after a moment's rest, he got moving again, falling into step with Dalamar.

The mist was denser here, but they could all see the archways that were set in either side of the hallway.

"The crypts," Raistlin whispered.

The metallic screeching the Dark elf had heard earlier was louder now. It was colder too, the mist condensing on the walls and ceiling. Through it, they could see that the passage ahead was filled with gully dwarves.

"I wonder why the little guys are lined up?" Caramon wondered aloud.

"This is our chance to find out." Tanis was about to start forward when a hand landed on his arm.

"Leave this to us," Raistlin interjected.

"We will come with you," Sturm stated, his voice as cold as the air.

Dalamar's eyes narrowed and he scowled balefully at the knight. Sturm returned the gaze squarely for a moment, then dropped his eyes.

"Do not disturb us," Raistlin hissed.

The Solamnic didn't answer, but followed when the two mages started to walk towards the long line of gully dwarves. The elven mage kept an eye on him; no knight would stab anyone in the back, even an enemy, but it never hurt to be cautious. After all, he wasn't the only one who wouldn't mind his enemies having a little 'accident'.

Raistlin paused a moment and lay his hand on Dalamar's arm. "Stay behind me," he said softly.

The Silvanesti lagged back, smiling as he saw the young mage's agile hands twitch to his belt. He caught a brief glimpse of the parchment of a scroll before it vanished into Raistlin's sleeves. He had a feeling he knew what his lover was planning. Clever.

Still, he had to wonder what the human wizard was up to when Raistlin stopped near the gully dwarves, put a hand to one of his pouches, and pulled out several steel pieces. Dalamar recognised one as the Takhisis-faced one they had found a few days back.

What was he doing? They didn't have enough money to bribe the gully dwarves, even if the Aghar had any concept of money -which the Dark elf doubted.

The young Red Robe didn't speak, nor could Dalamar see his expression since the human mage had his back to him. Instead, the elven wizard saw as he held up one of the coins so all the gully dwarves could see it, then threw it into the air. Suddenly, it vanished!

Ah, sleigh of hand tricks. Although how that was supposed to help them...

It was only after several more tricks, in order to gain the gully dwarves' full attention, that Raistlin removed the scroll from his sleeve and read it out; _"Suh tangus moipiar, ast akular_ _kalipar."_

Dalamar smiled, then stepped forward to better see the spell's effect. The gully dwarves were grinning openly at the young mage, a few reaching forward to tug on his robes.

"What was all that about?" Sturm's voice was thick with the knight's contempt for magic.

"They are now spellbound, I have cast over them a spell of friendship." Raistlin looked down at the gully dwarves, the Aghar smiled back, jabbering away happily in their incomprehensible language.

More gully dwarves were coming from behind them, ignoring Dalamar and the others but pulling up short when the saw the commotion around the Red Robe.

"What happening?" a dwarf from the new group called over.

"Friend, this our friend," the others chattered back.

The Dark elf raised an eyebrow. To cast a spell so well, especially from a scroll, was impressive. He was about to say something to that effect when Raistlin spoke, not to him, but to the gully dwarves.

"Yes." The human's voice was soft and oddly gentle. "You are all my friends. Now tell me, my friends -where does this corridor lead?" The young mage pointed east.

A scuffle broke out as the gully dwarves started shouting out conflicting answers and then set about silencing those that disagreed with them... with fists.

Dalamar was very glad when a female Aghar kicked her way into the pitched battle and ended it by bashing several heads together. It had been getting far too noisy.

This gully dwarf seemed to know where they should go and they finally started off again, the small army of Aghar in tow.

The Dark elf tried hard to keep the smile off his face; this entire situation was ridiculous and the expression on Flint's scarlet face was priceless. Beside him, Raistlin was quietly interrogating the gully dwarf that had helped them, Bupu, she called herself. This Bupu was happily bouncing along, one grubby hand on the human mage's robes, babbling away in monosyllabic common. "We go, you see. We down. They up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Come. You go. We give rides down."

None of which made the least sense to the two mages, and the human smiled in a slightly bemused way at Bupu.

To be honest, the Dark elf was puzzled by Raistlin's attitude towards the Aghar, since the spell was not one that required the caster to be nice to the enchanted. Oh well, it was getting them where they needed to go. And that seemed to be, according to Bupu, to the head of the gully dwarves -the Highbulp- who was the only one in this madhouse who might know where the dragon's lair was.

Tanis was not the only one who was less than pleased with this turn of affair. "We better go and see this Highbulp then," he groaned. "Now, if we could just figure out what this up and down business is and that squeaking noise-"

"I know!" Tasslehoff piped up. "It's a lift, Tanis, like in dwarven mines. I was in a mine once. It was the most wonderful thing. They had a lift that took rock up and down. And this is just like it. Well, almost like it. You see-" Tas giggled "-they're using a giant lard-rendering pot! The gully dwarves that have been standing in line here run out when one of the draco-thing-am-a-jiggers cracks this big whip. They all jump down into the pot that's attached to a huge chain wrapped around a spooked wheel with teeth that fit into the links of the chain -that's what's squeaking! The wheel turns and down they go-"

"And up comes another pot," Dalamar finished and shook his head. "Likely filled with draconians."

Bupu nodded. "Pot full of big bosses."

Four in fact, according to what Tas had seen.

"Great!" Flint groaned.

"Not come here, go that way-" Bupu's wave could have indicated anything.

A whip cracked, now very loudly. Bupu pulled on Raistlin's sleeve and they moved forward, everyone checking weapons or, in the mages' case, spell components.

Dalamar turned to the gully dwarves who stood in a little circle around Raistlin. "You lot, when you get to the lift, don't get in, keep to the side and out of the way, understand?"

The expressions on their faces were deeply suspicious, clearly wondering who this newcomer thought he was to give _them_ orders! Raistlin sent the Dark elf an apologetic look and repeated the instructions. This time the reactions were much more positive.

The whip cracked a second time, followed by an angry shout from the draconian. The Dark elf tucked his dagger into his belt and sighed, "Here we go."

He hoped the fight wouldn't be so loud that the dragon would hear them.

* * *

Tasslehoff's description had been accurate, and Caramon charged at the whip-wielding draconian, smashing the unnatural creature against the wall. Sturm ran after them and lopped a second draconian's head from its shoulders. The body fell to the ground with the crunch of stone striking stone.

The remaining two creatures looked at each other and leaped back into the pot, which started to drop.

Caramon left his unconscious opponent and jumped in after them. The Solamnic swore as he saw the pot dropping faster under their combined weight, then turned to Tanis. "I'm going after him."

"Stop you idiot-" Dalamar shouted, then sighed. Too late, the knight had jumped in after Caramon and the pot fell faster still.

"Why," he growled at Raistlin, "are we surrounded by fools?"

And indeed, Tanis, Tasslehoff and Flint had just jumped too.

"Because that's better than being surrounded by draconians," Raistlin answered, looking down over the edge of the pit where the pot had vanished. "And that's what's going to happen very soon!"

As Dalamar watched the combatants in one pot drop out of sight through the mists, a second one rose into view -filled to the brim with armed, furious draconians!

Dalamar swore and backed away, thinking fast. He could destroy the chain, he supposed. The devastating spell from the Sentinel Peaks had proven itself just as effective against objects as against creatures, but not only would that mean killing half the group -and the Dark elf had no doubt they'd need everyone present to get through this- but it'd also mean sabotaging their only way of getting down.

However, unless he thought of _something_, and fast, none of this would matter.

In the end, it was Raistlin who acted. He shoved Riverwind aside and jammed his staff in between the spokes of the wheel that was slowly hoisting the draconian pot towards them. The Staff of Magius shuddered for a moment, and Dalamar was amazed it didn't snap in half due to the strain. But it held, and it worked. The mechanism stopped. Raistlin smiled. "Dragonfire," he said simply, "is the only way this staff can be harmed."

The Dark elf nodded, then turned back to watching the pandemonium break out below.

Tanis was looking up at him, eyes wide with panic as the draconians in the other pot, now level with theirs, began to fly over. "Bring us back up!" he screamed, then a draconian mace struck him a glancing blow on the side of the head, and he went down hard.

Raistlin appeared behind the Dark elf. "Come over to the wheel and get ready to pull the staff free," he said. "I will take care of the draconians."

Dalamar sent his lover a mildly incredulous look- Raistlin and a dozen gully dwarves against a pot full of draconians?- but he trusted Raistlin and hurried over to the wheel anyway and took hold of the staff, preparing to pull it free. The wood felt clammy and cold to the touch, unwelcoming.

The plan was very simple, Raistlin simply got the gully dwarves to jump on the draconian's chain, thus increasing the weight on the pot enormously, and signalled to Dalamar to pull the staff away.

The Dark elf did so, and the wheel started to turn, slowly at first then faster and faster, sending the cursing draconians down into the mists and hauling the other pot back up.

Five much shaken companions staggered out, Caramon half-carrying Tanis. "We can't get down that way!" Sturm's armour was scratched from the draconians' weapons, but the knight himself was unhurt- pity- "And we can't stay around here. It won't take them long to get the lift back in operation and then they'll be after us. We'll have to go back."

"No! Don't go!" Bupu had not joined the rest of her kin on the chain, but was still huddled by Raistlin's side. "I know way to Highbulp!" She pointed the way north.

"Then why in the Abyss didn't you tell us earlier!" Dalamar snarled.

The little, dirty woman recoiled under the Dark elf's anger and tugged at Raistlin's sleeve, as if trying to pull him away from this new danger.

The young mage didn't move, looking down at the gully dwarf instead. "Yes, Bupu," he said in a soft voice. "Why _didn't_ you tell me earlier?"

"Secret way. Others no know. Magic." She tugged on Raistlin's sleeve. "Me show you. Safe way. No bosses. Me no let bosses get you. You pretty."

It seemed to Dalamar that Raistlin was trying hard to avoid looking him in the face. Despite his annoyance, he found himself having to hide a smile. Pretty, indeed! He'd never thought he could be in a position to agree with a gully dwarf.

They had barely got a few meters before the sounds of approaching draconians reached them. Bupu, however, paid no attention to the noise or to the now very angry companions. Instead, the gully dwarf walked over to a section of wall, reached into her pack for something, and muttered a few words. Obediently, the wall shuddered, then swung open.

The room they found themselves in was small, with barely enough room for all of them. The door slid shut behind them. Beyond it, they could hear the draconians stomp past.

"They must have heard the fight," Sturm hissed. "It won't take them long to get the lift in motion, then we'll have the whole draconian force down on us!"

"I don't think I heard you put forward any better ideas, knight," Dalamar snarled back.

"Then, I'll give you one. We go back. Although you both are more than welcome to stay here and wait for the draconians. Perhaps you get on better with them than with us."

"Me know way down," Bupu piped up before Dalamar could answer.

The Dark elf tried to calm down. The Solamnic always seemed to know exactly what to say to get him riled up. Although to be fair, the knight was even angrier.

Raistlin was questioning the gully dwarf about the door. Bupu was convinced that opening it was magic, despite Tasslehoff's certainty that all she had done was to tip a floor lock.

"Is there any way to open it for this side?" Dalamar asked. They might very well need to know when they came back.

Bupu nodded happily and was all set to give them a demonstration, one that would leave them in full view of the draconians outside. Raistlin stopped her though. The gully dwarf shrugged, then started walking north, passing through rooms like the one they had left: filthy, slimy, and ruined.

Finally, they found themselves in a room whose roof had mostly collapsed. The source of the wreckage was a large pipe, which at one point must have fallen through the ceiling.

And it was into it, Bupu insisted, that they had to go.

No one argued; behind them, they could hear the screech that told them the draconians had fixed their lift. Tasslehoff went in first, next Bupu, followed by Raistlin, and then it was Dalamar's turn.

The pipe was made of metal, and freezing cold to the touch. It was coated with a thick growth of fungus and slime that made crawling along it both treacherous and incredibly unpleasant. Behind him, he could hear Goldmoon's staff banging against the sides of the pipe and the shrill scraping of Caramon's weapons. It went on like this for a while -far too long, in Dalamar's opinion. It was cold and damp, and he could hear his own breathing becoming more laboured in the close confines of the pipe. The Dark elf disliked being underground even at the best of times, which this certainly wasn't.

Nor was he the only one having problems. Even in the dim light, he could see Raistlin shivering, and when they stopped quite suddenly, the young mage leant back against him, his coughs loud in the echoing pipe.

Dalamar rubbed his lover's shoulders and looked over them at the reason they had stopped.

Apparently, Bupu wasn't the only one to know about the pipe. A group of gully dwarves were coming up in the opposite direction and had blocked it. Bupu shouted at them that they were going to see the Highbulp, and the newcomers decided against barging past, starting to clamber back down instead.

Dalamar fought down a shudder, suddenly aware of just how confined they were in here, and of the many hundreds of tons of rock above them. Should the light of Raistlin's staff go out, they would be in total darkness, and if the pipe itself collapsed, then they would be buried alive.

This time the Dark elf wasn't able to hide the tremor that went though him. It seemed far too dangerous to be here, this far underground and protected only by the narrow confines of an ancient pipe.

Raistlin choked back his cough and the Silvanesti could see the familiar golden eyes watching him, reflecting the light of the Staff of Magius. He felt his lover's hand tighten around his own reassuringly for a moment, then the young mage succumbed to his mysterious aliment once more and doubled over again.

Bupu watched Raistlin's coughing in alarm, then pulled open her bag, digging around inside it, occasionally pulling out something before putting it back, muttering, "This not what I want."

One object she held up flashed and glittered. Tasslehoff, who had turned around to watch, gaped, "What is that?"

The gully dwarf shrugged. "Pretty rock." Then went back to delving inside her bag.

Raistlin too had seen it. "An emerald," he said hoarsely.

Bupu looked up. "You like?"

"Very much!" Dalamar winced at the rattle as the young mage struggled to draw breath.

"You keep," Bupu said firmly, slipping the jewel into the mage's hand.

Finally, the gully dwarf found what she was looking for: A dead lizard, which, she promised, would cure Raistlin's cough. The human wizard smiled and thanked her, but gave it back, saying he was much better, which was true -the spasm had passed.

They started off again, Raistlin sliding the emerald into one of the hidden pockets inside his robe -and out of a curious kender's reach.

"A pretty rock," Dalamar whispered to him softly, smiling. "A very pretty rock. Now, where might she have gotten it? Last I heard, there were no mines in Xak Tsaroth." The Dark elf's tone said that he had a good idea where she might have found it.

The same conclusion Raistlin had come to. "No mines, but there is one creature here with a large stash of treasure, and perhaps this Highbulp isn't the only one to know how to get there."

Dalamar nodded.

The young mage sighed, "I wonder-" His voice suddenly broke off with a gasp.

The Dark elf skidded forward, only to find that the pipe under him had suddenly changed direction, now pointing almost straight down!

Stopping his descent proved impossible, the slime was too thick and, even if he did manage anyway, he would be knocked down again by whoever was coming down the pipe behind him. Judging by the cursing, it was Caramon.

The pipe finally opened up quite suddenly, so suddenly in fact, that he had no chance to try and slow down, flying out of its open mouth and landing on top of Raistlin, the Staff of Magius cracking against his ribs. Dalamar yelped in pain and gagged, having inhaled a mouthful of something powdery. The air around them was filled with billowing clouds of white dust. Raistlin coughed and put the sleeve of his robe over his mouth and nose.

Behind them, the rest of the group clattered and banged their way out of the pipe.

Dalamar stumbled to his feet, one hand on his aching ribs, and pulled Raistlin to his feet. He had no idea what the strange substance filling the air was, but he wasn't about to wait around. Copying his lover, he covered his mouth and nose and started looking for a way out.

A small, white imp staggered out of the powdery mist, moving towards them. It was only when it drew close that Dalamar recognised Tasslehoff, covered from head to foot in-

"Flour," Half-elven murmured.

"Flour or not," Dalamar said hoarsely, "we have to leave. We can't breathe."

* * *

It took the better part of five minutes to find a way out. The door might have been old, but it was locked and barred, the hinges rusted into place. They ended up having to squeeze out through a hole that had been gashed in the wall.

It was quite a shock when they got out, to find themselves in what must have once been a main street in Xak Tsaroth. The city must had been quite literally swallowed up by the earth during the Cataclysm. The mages found themselves on a cobbled street, lined on each side by shattered buildings and with several small streams flowing down it, forming one large current about halfway down, flowing through a plaza, and then vanishing rather abruptly.

Judging by the roar the water was making, the street must also have vanished.

Bupu pointed towards to noise of falling water. "Follow river."

It was a miserable walk down; the street was so flooded that they often plunged ankle deep in the water. It was warmer here, but the heavy spray from the waterfall made it seem colder.

After having stopped a few times to wash the slime and flour off themselves, in which Tasslehoff discovered that water and flour made a rather effective glue, they reached the edge of the street.

Dalamar stared. He knew very little about caves, since he hated going underground, but even he knew that this cavern was unnaturally huge. Faint light drifted down from cracks in the ceiling, to light up a cavern big enough to swallow a city. The waterfall they stood next to alone was over five hundred feet high.

Below was the rest of the city of Xak Tsaroth, its buildings looming like ghosts through the spray.

_Skull Bearer._


	11. Of Trust

_Tsukiyo no Yume: The effects of Raistlin's Test are more obvious in this chapter and they will continue to be. Dalamar will gain power too, but nowhere near as much or as fast as Raistlin. Remember, our Archmage jumps from low level to nearly epic in a few months! This will show._

_Crimson Ryu: Well, you could say what you liked and what you didn't ;), thanks for the review._

_River Majere: I'm glad you liked it, but please, in future don't put personal messages in reviews, that's what email is for. My address is on my bio page._

_Dalamar Nightson:I also detested Sturm for most of Chronicles, although he died well._

_I own nothing but my annotated copy of DoAT- covered in my scrawlings, the fountain pen responsible for said scrawlings, and my little lord Soth bookmark._

**Crepuscule**

Chapter eleven: Of Trust

_I'm alive with something inside of me...  
Northern Soul, The Verve_

As much as Flint hated gully dwarves, Raistlin knew that even he couldn't deny that Bupu knew her way around the wrecked city. From their vantage point, the companions could see across the whole of the ruins, and the little gully dwarf was happy to point out the house that belonged to the Highbulp, her clan leader.

With the majority of the draconians all rushing around upstairs, oblivious to the fact that they were now in the city proper, all that remained was to climb down to the cavern floor using the vines that clung to the edge of the cliff.

Raistlin wasn't looking forward to it. True, he didn't have to climb, the Staff of Magius took care of that, but it was going to be a lot colder and -judging by the number of waterfalls- wetter down there. Dalamar smiled at him, bending down to slide himself over the precipice. "See you at the bottom."

The young mage nodded, then sent a reassuring smile to the gully dwarf beside him before turning to the edge of the cliff, whispering the command word for the staff, and jumping.

Bupu's shriek of panic followed him on his way down, as did a muffled curse from Dalamar, whose robes had snagged on the vines.

The descent was just as unpleasant as Raistlin feared it would be; the spray from the nearby waterfalls soaked through his robes and the cold numbed his hands, making his grip on the staff treacherous. The thunder of the waterfalls was deafening. By the time he reached the base of the cliff, he was soaked through and shivering, and was forced to hang onto the vine trunks against the force of the cough that shook him.

The creaking of the vines alerted him that someone else had made it down, and a cloak was thrown over his shoulders. Raistlin wiped his mouth and sighed, reaching up to remove the garment and give it back to the stubborn Dark elf. Dalamar's hands pressed down on his shoulders. "If you think you can face a dragon while ill, then by all means give me my cloak back. Since you can't, then by the Gods keep it on, you're sick enough as it is." The hands released their pressure on his shoulders and reached down to rub his back, soothing the pain the young mage's chest. Raistlin drew in a relatively painless breath, then let it out. Seeing the human about to argue, the elven wizard continued, "I will be perfectly fine without it, and we wouldn't want you to greet your welcoming committee while sick now, would we?"

Welcoming committee? Oh. A band of those gully dwarves he'd charmed earlier were standing around, staring at him and grinning.

A second splash announced the arrival of Tanis, followed closely by Bupu, the gully dwarf scrutinising the young Red Robe closely to make sure he wasn't hurt. "Great Plaza that way." Bupu pointed west. "Come. You follow. Go see Highbulp."

She started off, only to be dragged back by Tanis, who attempted to interrogate her about the dragon. He gave up after half a minute when it became obvious that the gully dwarf didn't understand. Bupu grabbed Raistlin's hand, looking at him with not entirely misplaced sympathy for having to put up with these people before setting off again, the other gully dwarves trotting after them.

* * *

The group that reached the great plaza was very bedraggled, but unhurt. They hadn't seen so much as a single draconian and Raistlin supposed they were still searching the upper levels. All the better, although it would make getting out a problem. He knew better than to suppose they could climb back up the pipe that that brought them down. He was also secretly glad of the cloak Dalamar had lent him, although he would bite his tongue out before he told the Dark elf that. It was very cold down here and most of the city had been flooded, standing in up to six inches of water.

The so-called 'Great Plaza' was no exception, the waters forming a small whirlpool where several streams converged. However, the anticipated wade was not the reason why they stopped at the edge of the plaza. Crossing a hundred feet of open ground was though. The plaza was completely uncovered and Bupu clearly meant to lead them straight across. Admittedly, she had yet to lead them wrong, but what might be safe for an easily ignored gully dwarf may very well not be safe for them. His suspicions proved correct when the Aghar suddenly came running back to hide behind him. Raistlin felt the staff he held burn in warning and flattened himself against a doorway, dragging Dalamar after him.

On the other side of the plaza was a huge building, the Royal Palace of Xak Tsaroth, but what came stalking out of it was no human.

Raistlin forced down the fear as the dragon slipped out of the ruined palace. It was nowhere near as strong as during the attack by the well, and he was able to ignore the sickening twist inside him.

He glanced over at the rest of the group, hoping they had the sense to find cover. Mercifully, they had, creeping into the shadows of houses or back the way they had come. Pleased that they had that much sense at least, the young mage turned to look at Dalamar.

The Dark elf was pale, understandable since the dragon was now coming towards them, but he caught Raistlin's eyes and forced a smile, putting a finger to his lips for silence and pulling the young mage back further into the shadows as the dragon approached.

It wasn't alone, Raistlin could see that now. Besides it was a draconian, both conversing in their guttural language. Although the words meant nothing to them, the fear in the draconian's voice and the reverent way it fell to its knees when the discussion was finished was unmistakable. As soon as the dragon had stalked back to the palace, he turned to Dalamar. "The draconians show a lot of respect to that dragon."

The Dark elf smiled grimly. "When your leader has a choice of ten different ways of killing you, that tends to command respect! But you're right. Yesterday at the draconian camp, the creatures were all but worshipping that wicker dragon. When it went up in flames they panicked completely."

The human nodded. "Since I wasn't in any state to observe, I'll take your word for it."

A flicker of remembered pain crossed Dalamar's face, and the hand on Raistlin's shoulder tightened briefly.

As soon as the draconian left, joining a group of its fellows and strolling away with a lot more confidence that it had previously shown, the companions slipped out of their various hiding places, followed by a throng of gully dwarves.

"They're not worried, are they?" Sturm said glumly, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at where the draconians had vanished.

Tanis shook his head. "They think they've got us."

The knight snorted, "Let's face it, Tanis. They're right, this plan we've been discussing has one major flaw. If we sneak in without the dragon knowing, and _if_ we get the disks -we still have to get out of this godsforsaken place with draconians crawling all over the upper levels."

Tanis scowled. "I asked you before and I'll ask you now, have you a better plan?"

"I've got a better plan," Caramon announced. Raistlin stifled a groan. "No disrespect, Tanis, but be all know how most elves think about fighting." The emphasis on 'most elves' told them exactly who he thought the exception was. "That palace is obviously where the dragon lives. Let's lure it out as we planned, only this time we'll fight it, not creep around its lair like thieves. When the dragon's dead, we can take the disks."

The two mages had been silent, aloof from the bickering, but as this point, they felt obliged to step in.

"Fight the dragon," Dalamar sneered. "A marvellous battle like that by the well, perhaps?"

"What do you know of dragons?" Raistlin hissed, voice catching on the prelude to another coughing fit. "We have seen the effects of its deadly breath by the well. To attack it would be another disaster-" he broke off, overcome by the promised spasm. Mercifully, it was a brief one, so he wiped the blood from his mouth and continued, "Maybe you could defend yourselves against that, and against the sharp claws and teeth, and perhaps even the blows from the tail, which could crush your shield like a twig. But what about her magic?"

Magic perhaps learnt from Fistandantilus' spellbook, he silently added.

"You saw her cast by the well. She could charm you even more thoroughly than I have charmed my little friends and make you walk off the cliff we just came down, or perhaps put you to sleep and murder you while you dreamed."

This little speech was enough to turn Caramon off the idea, but Sturm was harder to convince. "We have much lore on dragons in Solamnia."

Dalamar rolled his eyes and leant forward, speaking softly, "I suggest we leave here now. These idiots intend to fight the dragon, and I for one do not want to end up like the Plainsman." The Dark elf gave a twisted smile and turned to the rest of the group. "Fight the dragon if you so want to, we'll sneak in while you're at it and take the Disks-" he sneered- "I just hope you can survive long enough to give us time to-"

"Stop this!" Goldmoon interrupted, standing between the snarling Silvanesti and the murderous scowls of the rest of the group. "The dragon's gone, so let's go and see this Highbulp. Hopefully, it won't come to a fight."

Sturm's expression did not fade. "It seems we have no choice. We do not face the enemy, we hide behind gully dwarves! Sooner or later a time will come when we face these monsters!"

"When it comes to that," Dalamar couldn't help but antagonise the knight, "what do you think you're there for?"

The Solamnic didn't answer, staring back with narrowed eyes and clearly entertaining an image involving his hands and the Dark elf's slender throat before storming away.

Raistlin shook his head and sighed. "Dalamar, I hate him as much as you do, but I for one don't want any more enemies, we seem to have a surplus here alone."

The dark robed elf stared after the knight. "Don't you understand? He already is an enemy. Haven't you seen the way he looks at us? You said it yourself, he would have us dead."

The young mage sighed again, but didn't see the point in arguing.

* * *

Bupu led them down to what had once been the Xak Tsaroth slums, a place overrun by gully dwarves where the buildings were held together solely by filth and luck. At the first sight of the companions, the inhabitants started to whoop loudly, the noise making Raistlin stiffen and glance around to see if anyone had heard the din. Mercifully, either the draconians never ventured near their slaves' dwellings or such noise was common enough not to cause interest.

The Highbulp appeared to live in the worst building of the lot. It stood at a crazy angle, tottering over the group as if it was about to collapse. Oddly though, Bupu didn't lead them to the front door, instead ducking around the building and into a dead-end alley. Sturm glanced at the brick wall that blocked their progress, then back at the gully dwarves who had piled in after them and drew his sword, "Ambush!" Caramon followed suit.

The gully dwarves, like all trained cowards, ran away.

Raistlin looked at the two men in disgust. Their actions summed up precisely everything he hated about them. Bupu tugged on his robes, demanding that he make the knight and warrior stop. "Put your swords away, you fools," he snarled. "Unless you think you've found a foe worthy of your attention."

The look Sturm turned on him was precisely the one he had turned on Dalamar, and the young mage couldn't deny the Dark elf's words. The Solamnic wanted them both dead. "I wish I knew what your game is," he hissed, fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword. "You were so eager to come to this city, even before we knew about the disks. Why? What are you after?"

For once, the elven wizard didn't speak, his expression puzzled. He too wanted to know why his lover was so eager to come here. Raistlin felt the familiar stab of guilt about keeping things hidden from the Dark elf, but said nothing. Dalamar was better off not knowing. Instead, Caramon came to his brother's defence. "Sturm, I told you, I trust my brother. Leave him alone."

The Solamnic glowered at the big warrior, but Raistlin didn't wait to hear what the knight said. Instead, he turned to Bupu. "They will not trouble you further, little one."

He didn't look at the Silvanesti, though he could imagine his expression. He knew the Dark elf was curious about his attitude towards the gully dwarf. The young mage shook his head sadly; he would never understand.

It took the better part of five minutes to get inside the secret door hidden behind the wall, mostly due to the password being three knock and the gully dwarves being only able to count up to two. They were only let in after Bupu threatened to knock on the doorkeeper's skull. After reassuring the gully dwarves inside that no, they were not giants and no, they were not here to hurt them, the companions were shown into a filthy antechamber, which was proudly announced as the 'Waiting Room'.

Gingerly, they sat down on the rubbish-strewn floor, the stench making Raistlin wrinkle his nose in distaste. "Right," Tanis started, when they were all as comfortable as they could get. "What's the plan? This Highbulp will be able to show how to get to the dragon's lair?"

Bupu looked the half-elf suspiciously, but nodded.

"We're going to need someone to go to the plaza first and make some kind of diversion, maybe attack someone, knock something over, make enough commotion to get the attention of the dragon and any guards that might be in the palace," he continued. "Then, the rest of us will come in and look for the Disks."

Everyone nodded, and Tanis sighed, "The question is, who?"

There was a moment's silence, then Raistlin spoke up, "I will."

"No!" Dalamar and Sturm protested in unison, if for very different reasons.

Raistlin met the knight's eyes. "And why not? I can use my magic to both get the dragon's attention and to escape, whereas you, knight, will probably forget all about anyone else and attack the beast."

Sturm scowled, but Dalamar spoke up before he could retort, "I am coming with you."

Raistlin looked at his lover. "You are not," he said firmly. "This is dangerous enough for one person. If I have anyone with me we will be twice as conspicuous."

"Then let me go in you place," Dalamar answered. "Raistlin, you've not been in the best of health-"

"I've never been in the best of health," he snapped. "I will drink my tea before I leave and it will be enough, beside-" he hesitated.

"Besides what?" the Dark elf demanded.

Raistlin closed his eyes. Dalamar was not going to like hearing this, but it had to be said. "Dalamar, I have taken the Test, my knowledge of magic _is_ greater than yours. If I go in then we have a greater chance of success than if you do. I'm sorry."

The Dark elf looked as though his lover had hit him, but was unable to refute his words. Whatever he was going to say was lost when a gully dwarf came to tell them that the Highbulp would see them now.

* * *

The throne room look like... well, it looked like a treasury that had fallen in the hands of gully dwarves! There was no other way to describe the sheer gilded chaos that confronted them on entering. The individual treasures would have been pleasing if they hadn't been not only crammed in a small space, but also scribbled on by their owners. Even as they entered, Raistlin noticed a gully dwarf decorating a graceful statue of an elven maiden with a handlebar moustache that put Sturm's to shame. Tasslehoff actually had to duck out of the room when his giggles became uncontrollable.

Luckily, the Highbulp proved to be more intelligent than his subjects, although he appeared disappointed when the explained that the only wanted to go in and take an item of religious import. "You here," The Highbulp argued. "You got swords. Kill dragon."

It was only after they had offered to bring the Highbulp someone the dragon's 'pretty rocks', that he agreed to give them what they wanted, a map to the dragon's lair. It was a relief to get back to the anteroom; as dirty as it was it was better than the sensory onslaught the throne room offered. Caramon unpacked some food and Raistlin shook his head, wondering how anyone could eat in this place. Instead, he kicked the rubbish away, clearing a relatively clean space, and lay down, his head in Dalamar's lap. He was growing tired and wanted to be at his most attentive when facing the dragon.

One thought was wearing at him: the spellbook. It would be impossible to create the diversion and still find time to duck inside the palace to locate Fistandantilus' spellbook. He could ask Dalamar to find it, he supposed; he would have to tell the Dark elf about it sooner or later, and if he presented it simply as a powerful tome Dalamar might refrain from asking too many questions. But no, it was far too dangerous; he certainly didn't want his lover risking his life, even for the spellbook.

What he needed was someone who would do what he wanted, not ask questions, and who was expendable.

Raistlin smiled. That was _easy_.

* * *

He must have fallen asleep at that point, because the next thing he remembered was the noise the door made when it banged open. Dalamar looked down at him, then leant forward and whispered softly, "Thank Nuitari you're awake, I've been forced to listen to the Plainsmen's moping for the last half-hour."

A gully dwarf scurried in, giving Tanis a crumpled piece of paper before scuttling out again. The Dark elf looked at the paper and groaned. Flint snorted, and even Tanis laughed ruefully. The 'map' was a scribbled line between a 'secret room' and 'big dragon'.

Raistlin smiled, reaching inside his pocket to touch the 'pretty rock' Bupu had given him. The Highbulp wasn't the only one to know how to get to the dragon. He turned to his little friend. The gully dwarf looked back defiantly. "You right. I know. I know secret place. I go there, find pretty rocks. But don't tell Highbulp!"

"Will you tell us?" Tanis asked.

Bupu looked Raistlin, who nodded. "I tell," she sighed. "Give map."

The Red Robe, seeing everyone engrossed in the map, turned to his twin. "Does the plan hold?"

Caramon nodded unhappily. "I should come with you."

Hook, line and sinker. "Nonsense, you would only be in my way. I will be in no danger, I assure you. Besides," Raistlin looked around, then sidled closer to his brother, "there is something you must do for me, something I cannot entrust to anyone else."

As he'd expected, those golden words worked wonders. The big warrior drew himself up. "What can I do?"

"There is a spellbook in the dragon's lair, a powerful one. I have no doubt the dragon is using it."

"And you want me to get it for you." Caramon nodded. "What does it look like?"

Lamb to the slaughter, the young mage was amazed how easily this was working. "Like my spellbook, with bone-white parchment bound in night-blue leather. It has silver runes on the front and feels deathly cold to the touch."

"What do the runes say?"

Raistlin shrugged. "It matters not." At least, not to you. "Just find the book. I can trust no one else to do so." There, perfect with the final flattery at the end to stave off any questions.

Caramon nodded eagerly. "Sure Raist."

The wizard hid his grimace. Still, if the oaf could get him the spellbook, he would put up with a hundred uses of his childhood nickname.

"What was that about?" Damn. Dalamar.

Raistlin hesitated, then admitted defeat. It was foolish to think he could hide the spellbook from the Dark elf. But it seemed as though his lover already knew. He had probably overheard Raistlin's conversation. Damn his keen ears.

"Why did you hide this from me, Raistlin?" The Silvanesti seemed more sad than angry, which made everything somehow worse. "Did you want that spellbook for yourself? I would have thought-"

"No," Raistlin interrupted. "It was nothing like that, Dalamar. Do not ask me questions you know I cannot answer."

The elven mage rubbed his forehead. "How can you expect me to trust you when you persist in keeping things from me?"

The human didn't answer, he couldn't. Somehow, Dalamar's sorrow was a hundred times worse than his anger. He leant his head on the Dark elf's shoulder and slid his arms around his waist. His lover sighed, then hugged him back. "Just trust me," the Red Robe whispered.

Dalamar snorted, "You know the answer to that, Raistlin Majere."

The young mage smiled sadly, and kissed the Dark elf. Dalamar's hands came up to cup his face as he did so, and for long moments, they just held each other.

Tanis cleared his throat loudly, interrupting. "_If_ you've quite finished, we're ready to go. We'll give you a five hundred count, then we'll start. The 'secret room' is a trap door located in a building not far from here, according to your little friend. It leads beneath the city to a tunnel that comes up under the dragon's lair, near where we saw her today. Create your diversion in the plaza, then come back here. We'll meet here, give the Highbulp his treasure, and lie low until night. When it's dark, we'll escape."

"I understand," Raistlin said absently, pulling away from Dalamar and mulling over the Dark elf's words.

"We go now?" Bupu spoke up.

Tanis nodded. "We go now."

* * *

The street was empty, worryingly empty. But there was no time to turn back. Bupu glanced around, shrugged, and trotted on beside the human wizard. "Who he?"

"What?" Raistlin's mind was still on Dalamar's words. Still, after so long, the Silvanesti found it hard to trust him. The young mage understood his disappointment about the secrets he was keeping, but still. After so long...

"Who he? Dark elf."

Despite the situation, Raistlin had to fight back a smile, wondering how he was supposed to explain. Finally, he decided simplicity was best. "A friend."

"Good friend?" Bupu looked worried.

"Very good friend."

The gully dwarf looked relieved. "He not hurt you?"

"Never."

Bupu nodded, looking satisfied, and Raistlin lifted a hand to hide his amusement. "This way Great Plaza." She tugged on his hand.

The further they walked, the more nervous the wizard became; the whole situation stank of a trap. Even Bupu was subdued, hanging onto his red robes as the approached the central plaza.

By the time they had arrived, Raistlin knew this was a huge mistake. He was just about to turn and run when something cracked into the back of his skull.

The young mage collapsed.

_Skull Bearer._


	12. Of Traitors

_Tsukiyo no Yume: Thank you. Raistlin and Dalamar's relationship is not all sunshine and roses, and I'm trying to show this. I also enjoyed using the term 'gilded chaos'._

_River Majere: Cheers, the dragon chapter was not easy to write, it took a while to finish it to my satisfaction, but here it is._

_Myar: -smirk-, now that would be telling, thank you so much for the artwork._

_Dedicated to Myar for drawing my first fan art: __www. deviantart. com/ deviation/ 25142356__/ I'm still squeeing over it.  
And Chetwynd, for the great beta work._

**Crepuscule**

Chapter twelve- Of Traitors

_And I can't seem to get it out.  
Northern Soul, The Verve_

Stars exploded in front of Raistlin's eyes, and the cobblestones under him seemed to sway. Still, he refused to give in to blackness, hanging grimly onto consciousness. There was a clatter as the Staff of Magius fell to the ground.

Another blow, harder than the first, and Raistlin felt his grip on consciousness weakening, starting to spiral down into darkness. A third one, and the young mage could no longer hold on. He slipped down into the dark, the draconians's rasping voice echoing in his ears.

"Take them to Lady Khirsanth."

* * *

Raistlin came to slowly. He had blood in his mouth from a split lip, and the draconian's rough scales had scoured the side of his face bloody. He was lying on something hard, and a peculiar reptilian scent filled his nostrils, strange and dank, making his breath catch.

"I know you are awake, mage." The voice was a low purr. Raistlin kept his eyes closed. It was an easy guess where he was. If he couldn't see the beast, it might not affect him so badly. Something sharp dug into his stomach, and the young mage's eyes opened involuntarily.

He had expected to see the dragon, just not so close. The great, jagged head was mere feet away from his own. So close that Raistlin could see in perfect detail the heavy fangs, each as long as his forearm, the glittering eyes with their slit pupils fixed mercilessly on his own, and the slow drips of acid running from the dragon's maw. One drop landed on his arm, and Raistlin flinched, feeling it burn through the material and sear his flesh.

The dragon smiled, making sure the young mage caught a good look at her teeth. "A pity not all your allies are as trustworthy as your little friend here."

With a massive effort, Raistlin focused his will on tearing his eyes away from the dragon's and looked over the edge of the altar he was lying on. Bupu was huddled and crying on a pile of the beast's treasure, the Staff of Magius next to her. Briefly, the young Red Robe entertained the notion of grabbing the staff and striking the dragon full in the face with it, then discarded the thought. As useful against those monstrosities as it may be, he doubted even its power could destroy the horrific creature with one blow. As if reading his thoughts, the enormous creature idly reached out a claw and held him down, making as though to tear at the young mage. Despite being half frozen from fear, Raistlin flinched.

"Oh, do not be in such a hurry to leave." The dragon's smile said exactly the opposite. "We are going to wait for the rest of your friends to arrive. They have the Blue Crystal staff, you see, and I am not so unfair as to take it while giving nothing in return.

Raistlin didn't answer, the dragon's words shooting through him like a bolt of ice. The five hundred count must have ended long ago, and now Dalamar and the others were coming here, walking straight into a trap. He tried to sit up but the beast pinned him back down again. "Of course, you just have to be _alive_ for this, not unharmed. Do not move mage, or perhaps you would like to see how well you can spellcast without a tongue, or hands, or eyes."

The wizard lay still, struggling to force air into lungs tight with fear. He tensed suddenly as he heard voices. Already? He must have been unconscious longer than he had first thought. _'Go back!' _He thought frantically, _'Don't come here!'_

The dragon's smile widened, looking over to where the sounds came from. _"Dulak."_

Raistlin closed his eyes, expecting the dragon to leap off the pedestal and... He didn't want to imagine what would happen next. Mercifully, the creature didn't move except to cover his body with her paw. The young mage shuddered involuntarily, the pressure and the reptilian stench making it hard to breathe. Judging by the increase of noise, the others had realised that they had been trapped. Caught in the same darkness as the dragon had conjured beside the well, they had to know now that they had been expected. The black dragon waited, listening, as Raistlin was, to the clatter as the group climbed out of the passageway. Then she lifted the darkness.

Raistlin looked around the beast's claw; the companions were standing in a corner of the huge room, blinking in the sudden light. He spotted Dalamar near the back, face pale with shock.

"Feeling betrayed?" Raistlin could feel the vibrations of the dragon's voice.

Sturm lunged forward, his face flushed and furious, drawing his blade. "The mage betrayed us! Where is he? Serving you?" Only as a potential meal, Raistlin thought, feeling sick.

"Stand back, foul knight of Solamnia!" The dragon roared. "Stand back or your magic-user will use magic no more!" She lifted her foot, clearly savouring their expressions.

Raistlin caught Dalamar's horrified look, silently trying to assure the Dark elf that he was unhurt. The dark robed mage gave a small nod. He was still pale, but he lunged forward to stop Caramon from advancing- "Don't move you idiot!"

The big man tried to pull free from the Dark elf. "Let him go! Your fight is with me!"

"My fight is with none of you." The dragon's foot twitched, digging one claw teasingly into Raistlin's abdomen. The young mage closed his eyes and tried to ignore the pain. He had to escape. The staff was out of reach, but now that the dragon had turned her attention to the rest of the group, he might have time to cast a spell.

The black creature seemed to read his mind, because she drove her talon deeper, making him gasp. "Don't even twitch mage. We speak the same language, remember? One word of a spell and your friends' carcasses will be used to feed the gully dwarves."

Raistlin didn't open his eyes, feeling the first trickle of blood running down his side as he tried to focus. To cast would be his death, he knew that much, and he would be lucky to finish it before the dragon killed him. He could feel Dalamar's eyes on him, silently begging him not to move. But the Dark elf wasn't the only one speaking to him.

The whisper in his mind was louder than ever now, clearer than it had ever been before, hissing warnings to him, not to cast, that it wasn't his place to die, that someone else would take his place.

Yes, Raistlin thought back, someone will die if I don't cast, the only person who would love me enough die for me. His stomach twisted at the thought, the image of Dalamar's death shooting bolts of weakness through him. No, better his own death than his lover's. The though sent cold chills through him, but his mind was made up. Anything would be better than that.

This is why I am casting.

The voice was softer now, asking in whispers why he should care so much for one who had told him to his face that he would be never trusted. The young wizard didn't dignify that with a mental response. Instead, he took a deep breath and started the spell; _"Astol arakhkh um-"_

_"Look," _the whisper hissed. _"Look before you throw your life away."_

Raistlin opened his eyes. Goldmoon and Sturm were approaching, the staff clutched in the barbarian chieftain's hand. A new voice echoed in his mind, Goldmoon's, telling him to wait.

The Red Robe gave a tiny, unperceivable nod and lay back, letting the spell slip away. I was wrong, he thought, feeling a deep rush of relief that Dalamar would not be the one to make the sacrifice. She would take his place. All the young mage had to worry about would be getting away.

"Lay the staff down with the other remnants of mankind's folly," the dragon demanded.

"What will you give us in return for this miraculous staff?" Raistlin was impressed despite himself; the Plainswoman's voice barely trembled at all.

The dragon laughed, "What will I give you? Nothing! Nothing at all. I do not deal with thieves. Still-" Raistlin winced as the beast's claw dug deeper, then lifted it. The young mage could see his own blood coating the talon. "-It is not inconceivable that Lord Verminaad -the Dragon Highlord- may view favourably the fact that you surrender the Staff." Verminaad again, Raistlin noted, and the fact that she called him Lord meant that he was powerful enough to makethe dragon wary -or was connected to those that commanded her respect.

"He may even be inclined to mercy -he is a cleric and they have strange values, after all. But know this, lady of Que-shu, Lord Verminaad does not need your friends. Give up the staff now and they will be spared. Force me to take it -and they will die. The mage first of all!"

Raistlin looked back at the rest of the group. Tanis was saying something to Riverwind, probably _priceless_ pearls of wisdom about sacrifice and other noble garbage. The Plainsman nodded. Half-elven then turned to a white-faced Dalamar, probably stating something along the same lines. The Dark elf punched him.

Goldmoon stepped forward. She didn't look afraid, instead, her eyes flashed, and, for a moment, she reminded Raistlin of the statue of Mishakal in the temple. "We do not choose to surrender!" she shouted.

_"NOW!" _the voices cried in unison. It was no longer a whisper,but a shout.

Raistlin threw himself off the altar, landing on his hands and knees in the dragon's treasure, groping for his staff. A blinding azure flash filled the room, followed by a low ringing noise, and he looked back in time to see the blue staff, which Goldmoon had swung at the beast, shatter. Instead of dying, as it previously had done, the light only grew brighter, engulfing the monster and Goldmoon both.

Both were burnt to ashes in moments.

The Red Robe covered his eyes from the glare and stumbled backwards, crashing into Dalamar who had been trying to reach him.

The Dark elf was pale, but also smiling. He hugged Raistlin close. "Are you alright?" he whispered in his ear, under the increasing noise.

Raistlin nodded. "Help me find the spellbook."

Dalamar looked as though he was about to argue, then nodded, probably deciding that if the human was well enough to worry about a spellbook, then he would be fine.

It was no use though; after only a few moments of searching, the young mage heard a deafening crack from above them. He grabbed the back of his lover's robe and dragged him away as a large chunk of ceiling crashed down where they had been standing.

The two wizards looked at the gigantic rock that had nearly flattened them. Then, a hand took hold of Raistlin's shoulder and shook him.

Tanis was livid, an effect only enhanced by the spreading purple bruise across his cheekbone where Dalamar had punched him. "Stop looting and get that gully dwarf of yours to show us the way out, or so help me, I'll kill you both!"

Raistlin wished he knew a spell of invisibility, or some other way of getting Bupu and themselves out, while leaving the others behind to their deaths. His expression must have been clear, because the Half-elf took an involuntary step backwards. Behind him, Sturm was trembling with fury.

Finally, Raistlin strode back to the altar, knelt down, and asked the gully dwarf to show them the way out.

Tanis lagged behind to get Riverwind, who had apparently gone catatonic with shock.

Once outside the room, it because obvious that not only the building was collapsing, but also the whole of Xak Tsaroth. Water seeped through new cracks, it was only a matter of time until the Newsea crashed in on them, and they were drowned like rats.

And Sturm wanted to _wait _for _Tanis?_

The two wizards looked at the Solamnic in amazement, and Raistlin snarled, "If we wait we will all die, knight!"

Sturm turned on the human mage, eyes blazing with rage. "You're the one who should have died, mage!" He screamed. "We should have left you to the dragon. Both of you!"

A deafening crack put an end to the shouts; one wall had shattered and water was pouring in. Raistlin was just about to grab Dalamar and flee, letting the others follow as they will, when Riverwind appeared, carrying Half-elven.

A chunk of masonry had caught the half-elf on the back of the head, and Riverwind had to carry him most of the way.

At last, they were able to leave the dying city, racing across the plaza -now knee-deep in water- and fighting their way past the panicking gully dwarves, finally heading east towards the only way out, the lift.

Unfortunately, they weren't the first to have had that idea. The lift was surrounded by a mass of draconians.

Raistlin and Dalamar looked at each other. "Sleep spell?" the human offered.

Dalamar nodded. "Sleep spell."

They waited until a new pot was in view, unfortunate gully dwarves hanging onto the chain. The draconians were fighting amongst themselves, none wanting to be left behind, military discipline crumbling in the face of this disaster.

The two wizards nodded and started casting. Dalamar's spell put several to sleep, Raistlin's a few more. Out of the twenty-odd draconians, about half were out cold.

Caramon and Sturm raced out with their swords drawn, followed by Riverwind. The Plainsman didn't even draw his sword, tearing into his enemies in a berserk rage instead.

The draconians fled.

"The lift!" Dalamar shouted, pointing at the pot. Now empty, it was beginning to rise.

Caramon grabbed hold of it and held it in place. The Dark elf climbed up and pulled Raistlin in after him, the young mage leaning out to help Bupu. Sturm lagged back; Riverwind had collapsed again and the knight had to drag him to the pot and lift him in, then doing the same with the unconscious Tanis before climbing in himself. Flint and Tasslehoff followed him.

Finally, Caramon heaved himself inside. Without the big man holding it, the pot shot up.

Raistlin collapsed inside the pot. The last spell had exhausted him. Dalamar looked little better, crouched beside him, and worst of all, they had another fight to look forward to when the pot arrived at the upper levels.

The young mage couldn't stop shivering, shoulders shaking with suppressed coughs. He pressed himself closer to the Dark elf, who was also trembling.

Dalamar looked at him, obviously still shaken. "You..." he whispered, sliding one arm around the young mage's shoulders. "You are going to be the death of me."

Raistlin couldn't help but smile. "I can look after myself."

"That you can." Dalamar looked up. "Blast!"

The pot shuddered suddenly, dropping about a foot. Either by horrible bad luck or because of the draconians, the mechanism was breaking apart. What was more, two of the dragon men had just jumped down, clearly meaning to land on the pot and drive it down still further.

Raistlin shot a look at Dalamar. "Do you have any more spells?

The Dark elf shook his head. "That was my last, but-"

"I have strength for one more," Raistlin interrupted, "but if they see me, they might well fight it off." He pondered for a moment, then smiled. "Caramon?"

Ever-ready, the big man hurried over. "What is it, Raist?"

"I need to be able to cast a spell without being seen. Use your shield to cover me."

"Are you sure-" Caramon's argument withered under the twin scowls he received, and obediently he picked up his shield, standing over his brother.

Raistlin smiled; he could get used to this blind obedience. He reached up a hand, fighting down exhaustion, and whispered the words of the incantation, eyes locked on the first of the rapidly descending draconian. The familiar burn of magic shot through him, and the spell went off, enveloping the hapless creature in sticky webbing. The dragon man fell past them with a shriek.

The exhaustion hit him so hard that, for a moment, Raistlin wondered if someone had struck him. The young mage stumbled, struggling to stay awake. There was one more draconian coming, so he struggled to marshal enough energy to fight it off. If the creature landed, it would send the whole lot of them plummeting to their deaths. Raistlin shut his eyes and reached into himself, drawing on the cold, dead power that had been locked inside him since the Test.

Suddenly, everything seemed clearer, sharper, more into focus. The power burnt inside him like icy fire, and the draconian, catching sight of him, obviously thought better of attacking and fled. The stolen energy dissipated, and the young mage's legs folded under him. He felt Dalamar's arms embrace him and sagged against the Dark elf.

* * *

He might have passed out for a moment, because the next thing Raistlin remembered was Dalamar half carrying him out of the lift. Above them came the deafening crack of the roof starting to cave in.

"Run!" Ah, Tanis was awake. "Back to the temple of Mishakal!" The words were barely out of his mouth when the floor behind them splintered, sending the whole lift contraption tumbling into the depths.

Raistlin stumbled forwards and nearly fell again. Finally, Dalamar sent him an apologetic look and picked him up. The young mage twisted in his arms, annoyed but unable to refute the Dark elf's logic -the roof was falling in and they would move faster if he were carried. Survival over pride.

Riverwind clearly disagreed with this. The Plainsman was kneeling on the ground while Sturm and Tanis shouted at him to move.

"Come on!" Flint yelled. The dwarf was hurrying ahead. "We'll be safe in the temple, dwarven stonework like that survived the Cataclysm. It'll survive this!"

Raistlin nodded, struggling to make his thin voice heard above the din. "Yes, we will be safe there; the Goddess would not harm those held in her palm."

He thought he heard Dalamar snort, but the Dark elf didn't argue, running after the dwarf, Bupu and Caramon hurrying after them. Tasslehoff lagged behind, waiting for the others.

The walls shook with every crash, sending clouds of dust rising into the air. The human mage choked and covered his mouth, fighting down a coughing fit. When they came to the staircase leading up, he slid out of Dalamar's arms and assured the elven wizard he was well enough to make the climb by himself. Besides, the stairs were so treacherous that they would be lucky to make it as they were, never mind while carrying someone.

Climbing the steps was a nightmare. Some of them were missing and the drop beneath them had never seemed more threatening. Finally, though, they were at the top.

Raistlin stumbled away from the sagging opening and collapsed against the wall of the circular room, feeling it shake. The coughing fit he had been fighting off overtook him and he doubled over, choking up blood and dust.

Dalamar knelt down beside him, rubbing his shoulders and smiling through a mask of dirt. The young mage wiped his mouth and looked up. The Dark elf was a mess, and Raistlin knew he looked no better; they were both as filthy as gully dwarves.

Dalamar looked back towards where Caramon was waiting anxiously for the others to appear. "Wouldn't it be wonderful if the roof fell in while they were down there? No more Half-elven, no more Plainsman or kender and, best of all, no more Sturm Brightblade."

Raistlin hid a smile. "While it would be a fine dream," he mentally winced at how thin his voice sounded, "and I would like to see the end of Brightblade as much as you do, we need the others. Alone, we would be vulnerable."

The Dark elf sighed and shrugged. "I know, but it was a nice thought."

They didn't wait to see if the others did get out. Raistlin was still tired beyond belief, and Dalamar was no better. The room was stable and they simply curled around each other like cats for warmth and went to sleep.

* * *

A loud scream from above shocked Raistlin awake. He looked around, disoriented. Sturm and Tanis were arguing, and Riverwind was nowhere to be seen.

"What's going on?" he whispered to Dalamar. The Dark elf seemed more alert, and the young mage guessed he had been awake for a while.

"I think the Plainsman's just joined his Chieftain," Dalamar answered in a low voice.

Raistlin looked at the elf, suddenly remembering that terrible, awful moment where he believed the one meant to die was his lover, and his own death wish. So, Riverwind had made the same decision. Silently, he stood up, one hand on the Dark elf's shoulder to bid him to follow, and started towards the doors. Tanis beat him to it, storming out into the temple, screaming and raging at the gods that had let this happen.

More quietly, the two mages followed, joined by the rest of the companions. They stepped forward a few feet, and then halted, stunned at the sight before them. Riverwind was kneeling before the statue of Mishakal. Lying on the pedestal, was Goldmoon, unharmed and fast asleep, with an amulet around her neck. The same amulet they had last seen adorning the statue standing above her.

Dalamar closed his eyes and shook his head. The Dark elf had seen enough miracles for today. Raistlin was in full agreement; the only miracle they needed now was that of a full night's sleep. Goldmoon opened her eyes, reaching out to touch Riverwind's face. She sighed, then stood, looking around at them, then down at the necklace around her throat. "I am a true cleric now," she murmured. "I am a disciple of Mishakal and, though I have much to learn, I have the power of my faith. Above all else, I am a healer. I bring the gift of healing back into the land."

She reached out again, touching Tanis' face and whispering something Raistlin couldn't catch. He might not be able to hear the words, but they sent a shiver up his spine. Dalamar's hand tightened on his shoulder. Whatever she said, the results were obvious: True healing. Half-elven had been badly hurt during the mad race out of Xak Tsaroth, yet now he stood unharmed.

"A cleric," Dalamar said softly. "But this Verminaad is a cleric too, and a powerful one if he can cow a dragon. I hope there is something in those Disks that can help us, or else we've risked all this for nothing." And no spellbook either, Raistlin thought grimly. He was going to have a few words with Caramon over that.

Goldmoon nodded reluctantly. "You are right, I am not a warrior. I am a healer. I do not have the power to unite the people of our world to fight this evil and restore the balance. My duty is to _find _the person who has the strength and wisdom for this task. I am to give the disks of Mishakal to that person."

There was a long moment of silence, then...

"Listen," the Dark elf whispered hoarsely.

Horns. Horns on the wind. The shrill braying of war.

* * *

"I wish my task was as clear as the Plainswoman's," Dalamar said idly, sitting down on a hillock. "Sometimes I have no idea what I'm meant to do here."

Raistlin smiled and sat next to the Dark elf. It was late, they had left Xak Tsaroth as quickly as they could and were now setting up camp for the night a good few leagues from the place. "That is our freedom, to do as we will. Goldmoon's task is a restriction, not a blessing. But if you like, I'll give you a task: To learn as much magic as is mortally possible; scare, annoy, and otherwise disconcert our highly annoying companions-"

"-And make you scream all night long?" Dalamar finished.

Raistlin laughed despite his weariness. "There is that."

The Dark elf grinned, wrapped an arm around his lover's waist. A pity they was so little privacy, Raistlin mused. But even if there was, he doubted he'd have the energy anyway. He pressed a kiss against the Dark elf's temple anyway, and was rewarded with being tugged a little closer. "Tired?"

Raistlin closed his eyes and nodded, stifling a yawn. He was tired, tired enough to fall asleep quite happily there and them. He lay his head on Dalamar's shoulder and the Dark elf kissed his neck. "At least do me the favour of sleeping in my arms," Dalamar whispered against his skin.

"Since when do I sleep anywhere else?" This time he was unable to withold the yawn, which set his lover off in turn.

The arm around the young mage's waist tightened, "Bed."

Raistlin nodded, and helped Dalamar unpack the bedroll before sliding inside, only bothing to pull his boots off in the process. While he prefered sleeping without clothing- his robes tended to get tangled and it was always nicer when both of them were naked- it _was _getting cold and he was too tired to be bothered with getting undressed. The Dark elf followed his lead and curled up next to him, chest to back, one hand around Raistlin's waist.  
"I love you," he whispered.

The Red Robe smiled into the dusk,his hand closing over his lover's. "And I you."

"Don't leave me."

"Never."

One last kiss, on the nape of his neck, then Raistlin closed his eyes and drifted off.

_Skull Bearer._


	13. Of Homecoming

_Myar: Glad you liked it ;)._

_River Majere: I hate Tanis' POV too, he just spends all his time moping and moaning, which, incidentaly, is the reason why Dalamar detests him._

_Tsukiyo no Yume: Don't worry about the cuts, he has Dalamar to kiss them better... _;)

_Thank you to Chetwynd for the beta._

**Crepuscule**

Chapter thirteen- Of Homecoming

_This is a tale of a northern soul  
Looking for his way back home  
-Northern Soul, The Verve_

Dalamar woke up quite suddenly, so suddenly in fact, that he didn't know what could have caused his sudden return to consciousness. It was only then that he realised he was alone in the nest of cloaks and blankets he and Raistlin had fallen asleep in. Quietly, so as not to draw attention to himself, he pulled his cloak on, quietly cursing as his sleep-worn hands slipped on the fastenings. His boots went on next, then he slipped into the night in search of his errant lover.

The sound of voices drew his attention, and he slipped closer, curious. It was not Raistlin, he discovered, but simply that oaf Caramon and the knight, arguing over something. Dalamar was prepared to just shrug and leave the fools to their bickering, when Sturm's voice drew his notice.

"-Running around at _his_ beck and call like a trained dog. Because that's how he treats you!"

"He's my brother! We look out for each other-"

"No! _You_ look out for _him_! The only one he looks out for is that blasted Dark elf!"

Dalamar crouched down, intrigued. It would be good to know the thoughts of these two, or, in Caramon's case, lack of thought. The dark robed elf was particularly curious about Sturm; if the knight was plotting something, it would be best to know about it.

"I know, I hate him too. But Raist's just making a mistake. I care for him, I'm his twin; I'm sure he cares for me in turn."

"And I am sure he doesn't. He was vicious to you this evening, because you didn't find that spellbook he wanted. The _roof _was falling in and he still expects you to go running around doing his bidding, and then he is angry because you didn't as told! He is using you, can't you see?"

"Can't you see he needs me? Why do you think he told me to find that spellbook? Because he didn't want the Dark elf to know about it. He knows he's made a mistake Sturm, and he does care for me."

"You are deluding yourself if you think your brother will care for anyone save Nightson and himself. Tanis agrees, you are being used and duped, and, when you have outlived your purpose, he will just throw you away like so much rubbish."

"I don't have to listen to this, you are wrong, Sturm."

"And you are in denial, my friend."

Deciding he had heard enough, Dalamar crept away, smiling to himself.

He found Raistlin sitting away from the others, talking to the little gully dwarf that had followed them this far. The Dark elf shrugged, Bupu was often irritating, but unlike most members of this little group, she treated Raistlin decently, and for that, he would put up with her. That, and the fact that the young mage seemed oddly attached to the gully dwarf for reasons Dalamar couldn't begin to fathom. Bupu saw the Dark elf first, and her eyes went wide. Raistlin lay his hand on her shoulder. "Farewell, little one."

Ah, so she was leaving. All for the best, really.

The gully dwarf nodded sadly, the tracks of tears clear on her dirty cheeks. "I go." She looked at Dalamar again, slightly nervous, then pointed a grubby finger in his direction,

"He look after you?" she asked Raistlin.

The human mage turned and saw Dalamar. He sent his lover a quick smile and nodded to Bupu. The gully dwarf sniffed, then caught his hand and kissed it, before scurrying off into the night.

Raistin had his eyes closed. "Farewell, Bupu."

Dalamar sat down beside him, sliding am arm around his lover's waist. "I will not even to pretend to understand," he whispered, "because I cannot imagine why you care about her, but-" The Dark elf shrugged.

"I would not expect you to understand," Raistlin said softly, still looking out where the gully dwarf had just vanished. "In fact, I do not_ want_ you to understand, because that would mean you knew what it was like to feel that weak and miserable. That despised."

The elven mage opened his mouth, then closed it, shaking his head. Raistlin was right, the Dark elf didn't want understand, and he wished his companion didn't either. "I have never been weak, but am all too familiar with being despised."

The young wizard waved one hand idly. "You were hated because you were feared. For the same reason they-" he indicated the group "-hate us now. Gully dwarves are not feared." Dalamar snorted at the idea, "They are despised as vermin, as Flint so aptly showed us earlier. They are weak, and hated because of it. Or pitied, which we both know is far worse."

"As miserable or weak as this Bupu may be," Dalamar sighed, "her company would be a sight better than the one at the moment. It would be pleasant to have someone who doesn't flinch at the sight of us or whisper as soon as they think we aren't listening."

Raistlin nodded, and Dalamar slid a little closer, tightening his hold around the mage's thin waist and nuzzling his shoulder. The human leant into the embrace, tipping his head back against the crook of the Dark elf's throat.

"We should get back to sleep," Dalamar said after a moment's silence. "We've a long walk tomorrow." They were heading back to Solace, to rest up and re-equip.

Raistlin looked up at Dalamar and smiled, a brilliant smile that warmed the Dark elf's heart; it had been too long since he last saw such an expression on his lover's face. "I don't think I could sleep," he said softly, reaching inside his robes to reveal-

-The very spellbook he had commanded Caramon to find! Dalamar stared at it in amazement. "How..."

Still smiling, Raistlin nodded towards where Bupu had disappeared. "Thank my little friend."

The Dark elf started to laugh, amazed. "Clearly she's cleverer than she lets on, eavesdropping on our conversation!"

The young mage ran a hand lovingly over the binding. "That's the only way she could have known, otherwise she'd have presented me with another of those 'pretty rocks." He sent Dalamar a sly look and the dark robed elf laughed again, obediently pulling a handful of gems from his pocket. He had snatched them up while they had been looking for the spellbook; a bit of spare steel -or a couple of sapphires- were always useful.

Raistlin chuckled. "I thought so." He ran his fingers over the facets of a particularly large ruby. "Pretty rocks."

"Very pretty rocks," the Dark elf agreed. "Although I'd rather have your spellbook."

The tension in the human's shoulders was obvious when he stood up. "I didn't mean to keep it from you, it's just that-"

The Dark elf got to his feet and kissed the young mage's forehead. "I understand."

"It's as much yours as it is mine, that wasn't the reason-"

Another kiss. "I know."

Raistlin sighed, and slid his hands around Dalamar's waist, head on his lover's chest. "I think sleep might be a good idea after all."

The Dark elf nodded, then pulled away, catching Raistlin's hand and tugging on it for the young mage to follow him. "And I can tell you all about the entertaining conversation I overheard between Brightblade and your brother..."

* * *

Tired as they were, they only managed to snatch a few hours sleep before the dawn. Or rather, the dawn woke Raistlin. Dalamar would quite happily have slumbered on if his lover hadn't woken him. "What?" the Dark elf growled, rubbing his eyes against the glare. 

His lover was standing, eyes fixed on the horizon. "Look."

Dalamar looked, then he in turn stumbled upright. The dewy grass was cold under his feet as he stared at the column of smoke rising to the west. It couldn't be Que-shu, the smoke would have been blown away by now, and anyway this was further away, towards...

"Solace," the Dark elf breathed.

The others were awake by now, all staring at the smoke.

"Yes," Raistlin whispered. "Solace is burning."

Uproar broke out, Flint shouting denial, Tanis shaking his head and damning himself for not having stayed to defend his home, Goldmoon trying to comfort everyone at once.

Raistlin and Dalamar alone were quiet, lost in their own thoughts. The Dark elf was unable to suppress sorrow at knowing that the town was gone. The place had been his home for almost two years, the home a Dark elf could never dream of. It had been so short a span in elven terms, but he had been happy there. Another part of his past gone. His lover's expression was unknowable, a sure sign that the sight too affected him, although he wasn't one to show it.

"Enough!" Tanis broke into the various arguments. "I say we head for Solace, there may be something we can do."

Dalamar remembered the melted ruins of Que-shu and shook his head. "What makes you think there is anything we can do? What if we come back to find Solace in the same state as the Plainsmen's village? What then?"

Tanis' lips thinned. "Do you have any better ideas?"

"If nothing else, we might find some trace of who did this and where they might be based," Raistlin whispered to him. "We should go."

The Dark elf looked at the young mage, then nodded reluctantly. He just hoped there wouldn't be any of the attackers left by the time they got there.

* * *

The journey back to Solace was mercifully uneventful. What draconians had made it out of the destroyed Xak Tsaroth had clearly fled in another direction because they saw no one. The smoke was dissipating by the time they approached Solace, but what was left hung like a pall over the ruins of the town.

Solace had been devastated.

Although the dragonarmies had not wiped it from the map as they had Que-shu, the damage was still horrific: Trees uprooted and burnt to ashes, buildings in pieces, and, worse, draconians everywhere. Covering their faces, the little group started towards the remains of the town. Dalamar stiffened each time a draconian glanced their way, but none paid them any attention. News of Xak Tsaroth had clearly not reached this far, and they were not stopped.

It was almost impossible to recognise the place as Solace. The house where he and Raistlin had lived was gone, its tree a charred hulk. Theobald's school was gone, torn down to its foundations. The Dark elf wondered if the mage had got out in time. Likely, Theobald might not be very bright but he could sense danger very well, like a weasel. The inn alone was in one piece. Although its tree was a mess of carbonised splinters, the building itself seemed to have been picked out of the tree and set down.

Half-elven nodded towards it with a blank expression. He, like most of the others, was beyond speech.

Inside, the inn was a mess, soot carpeting every surface. The draconians obviously didn't care, there were half a dozen of them sprawled around on the chairs. Dalamar also spotted a group of hobgoblins, three human mercenaries, and a handful of Solace folk, the latter huddling in a corner out of the way. There was one familiar sight: Tika, the barmaid, was still there, and she nearly dropped the glass she was cleaning at the sight of them. She recovered quickly though. "Sit down anywhere _strangers_," she called.

The black-robed elf nodded, thankful. The last thing they wanted was to be recognised. Caramon didn't seem to get the hint; he opened his mouth to speak, and Raistlin had to stand on his foot to shut the oaf up. They took a table in the far corner, sitting down with relief. It had been a long walk to get here, and the sight of their burnt down homes was more exhausting than anything physical.

The two mages seated themselves on the wooden bench, Raistlin's shoulders shaking with suppressed coughs in the smoky air. Dalamar slid a hand under the table and took hold of the human mage's hand. Tika bustled over. "What'll you be having?" Her voice was cold, in keeping with the deception.

Tanis's voice was equally distant. "Ale and food."

"And wine for my brother," Caramon put in, indicating Raistlin.

Raistlin shook his head, scowling at his twin for the slip. "Wine for him," he whispered, nodding at Dalamar. "Hot water for me."

The young woman nodded and left, coming back with a skillet of the inn's famed spiced potatoes and setting it down on the table. Then she ducked into the shadows and threw her arms around Caramon. Dalamar backed off and shot a quick glance over at the draconians, who were mercifully engrossed in their drinking. Now was _not_ the time.

"There, there." The big warrior looked just as shocked as everyone, awkwardly patting the barmaid on the back, his face scarlet with embarrassment.

"Tika, calm down," Tanis intervened. "We've got an audience."

Pulling herself together, the girl nodded and straightened her clothes, starting to dish out the spiced potatoes. Another barmaid- Dezra, if the Dark elf remembered correctly- arrived carrying the ale, wine and hot water. Raistlin gave a hoarse sigh of relief and started to mix his tea. His cough had been bothering him and the soot was not helping.

"Tell us what happened to Solace," Tanis said softly.

Tika leant in, speaking in whispers. There wasn't much to tell. The High Theocrat had allied with the Dragon Highlords, only to be betrayed. Five dragons had attacked Solace, burning the town to ashes. The draconian army had then come, occupying what was left of the town and enslaving its inhabitants. Every day more and more of them were sent to the slave mines, leaving only the skilled, like Theros Ironfeld.

"I fear for him," the young woman admitted. "He swore to me last night he would work for them no more. It all started with that captive party of elves-"

"Elves?" Tanis interrupted, too loudly. "What are elves doing here?"

Dalamar shifted and drew his hood down further as the draconians glanced over at them. A cloaked figure by the door raised his head and stared at them too.

There was a moment's uncomfortable silence, then a draconian called for more ale. Tika sighed and set the skillet down. "I better go. I'll leave that here. Finish them off."

They ate in silence. Raistlin drank down his tea and even managed a little of the food himself. Caramon, for once, ate little. He was too busy staring at the barmaid.

The two mages shared a glance and shrugged, despite their general interest in all and sundry, they couldn't care less about this.

Across the room, one of the draconians threw an arm around Tika's waist, slurring at her drunkenly. Tanis had to all but hold Caramon and Sturm down to avoid a fight.

Flint finished his ale and sighed, "Well, what do we do now? We came back to Solace for supplies and find nothing but draconians. My house is little more than cinders. Tanis doesn't even have a vallenwood tree, much less a house. All we've got are platinum Disks of some ancient goddess and two mages -one sick, one mad- with a few new spells." The dwarf shrank back from the shared glower he received but continued anyway. "We can't eat the Disks, and these two haven't learnt how to conjure up food, so even if we knew where to go, we'd starve before we got there!"

Goldmoon suggested that they avoid Haven. If there was a chance, it was going to be like this. Tanis suggested Qualinesti, Dalamar disagreed and the two started arguing. This was interrupted by Tika, who managed to make her way over to them again. Caramon asked for more potatoes and Half-elven paused to thank her before returning to the Dark elf, who was looking mutinous.

Tasslehoff spoke up for the first time, "Tanis, company."

The stranger from the far table, who had been looking at them throughout the meal, had stood up and was making his way over to them. The draconians had seen him too, and one of them stuck a clawed foot out, tripping him up. The stranger went flying headlong into a table, much to the draconian's amusement. An amusement that ended abruptly when it saw the stranger's face.

Growling, the creature lunged forward and tore the man's hood off. Dalamar winced and backed off. Not a man at all, but an elf, with the copper hair and green eyes of a Qualinesti elflord. Damn. The draconians's expressions -such as these creatures could have expressions- showed all too well what they thought of elves. Raistlin's slender hand closed comfortingly over his lover's shoulder.

The elf tried to back off, only to be caught by the draconian, who threw him back against the bar. Tika tried to intervene, only to be shoved aside. The other customers, amused by the show, started shouting at the draconian to kill the elf. Sturm drew his sword.

Dalamar got up, tugging on the young Red Robe's sleeve. "Let's go."

The young mage shook his head, still sitting and drinking his tea, a small smile on his golden lips.

"Why? Raistlin, they'll call the guards in a moment."

Another shake of the head, and the human mage slid a hand in the crook of the Dark elf's elbow and pulled him back down. "If we run," he whispered, "they'll notice. It'll look very suspicious. If we sit here and pretend to have nothing to do with this, they'll leave us alone. This might be our chance to discover what's going on. Let those fools get into a fight, it might reveal a few things."

Dalamar looked back at the rapidly escalating brawl. Tika had just hammered a draconian over the head with her skillet while one hobgoblin made a quick escape through a window.

"All I see is that these creatures really hate elves," he said darkly.

"Then stay here, don't attract attention to yourself." Raistlin's voice was sharp.

The Dark elf sighed, cast fate to the winds and sat back down, picking up his empty wine glass and refilling it.

Goldmoon stared at them, appalled. "Use your magic!" she demanded, grabbing the human mage by the arm. "Do something."

Raistlin looked at her coldly and pulled his arm away, pointedly ignoring her.

Glaring at them, the priestess picked up her pouch and ran over to Riverwind. Outside, Dalamar could hear warning horns blowing. Again he made to stand up. This was ridiculous! They would be killed if they stayed here. Again, Raistlin pulled him back down, shaking his head. Fighting down a growing surge of panic, the Dark elf sat down, muscles tensed in fight or flight reflex as the sound of the horns drew nearer.

"Great Reorx!" Flint shouted. "We've got to get out of here! Come on! Out the back!"

"There is no back!" Tika cried, in a panic.

"No," said a satisfied voice from the door. "There is no back. You are my prisoners."

Dalamar looked over and sneered at the sight of Fewmaster Toede, the cowardly hobgoblin who had been amongst those that had chased them from Solace. Thank Nuitari, he didn't recognise them.

Behind him were more goblins and several draconians, more than they could fight. One by one, the combatants sheathed their weapons, even Sturm.

Toede swaggered in. "More refugee scum from Solamnia," he snorted, glancing at the knight.

"Yes," Tanis spoke too quickly, but the Fewmaster was too stupid to notice the slip. "We've journeyed long days from the north. We did not intend to cause trouble. These draconians started it-"

"Yes, yes." Fewmaster waved a foul smelling hand. "I've heard this before," he paused, catching sight of the two mages still seated in the corner. "Hey you! What are you doing, skulking back there? Fetch them, lads!"

Dalamar sent Raistlin a questioning look. _Now what?_

The young wizard shrugged and gathered his pouches. The Dark elf shook his head and did the same as the goblins approached.

"On yer feet!" one snarled, jabbing a rusty pike in his direction. Dalamar sent the weapon an idle glance, making sure the goblin knew he was not in least bit intimidated before standing up, reaching down to help Raistlin. The goblin yanked on his shoulder, pulling him away from the young mage. Dalamar's hood fell back.

Blast!

The Dark elf turned, scowling balefully at the goblin, who snatched its hand away and scurried back. "Gods, there's another one!" Toede gasped, taking another step back. "The Highlord'll pay good bounty for that one! Bring both of them here with the others."

Despite Fewmaster's encouragement, the goblins looked reluctant to approach the two mages. They skulked back, occasionally prodding at them with their spears. Dalamar and Raistlin exchanged a look and raised their hands as if to surrender. Then they smiled.

The goblins had just enough time realise how much trouble they were in before an unpleasant combination of spells -three magical projectiles from Raistlin, and a withering blast of magic from Dalamar, quick spells that needed no material components- hit them.

The remaining goblins decided they were urgently needed elsewhere and edged towards the door nervously. Toede had gone an unflattering pasty colour and ducked behind a larger minion.

"Don't kill them!" the hobgoblin shouted unnecessarily -no one was going near the two mages. "Lord Verminaard pays a handsome bounty for elves and magic-users. But," he turned back to them,"the Lord does not pay a bounty for live kenders -only for their tongues! Do that again, and the kender dies!"

This didn't get the reaction Toede was clearly expecting. Raistlin raised an eyebrow in a clear 'and why should we care?' expression, and Dalamar idly brushed down his robes, pointedly drawing attention to their colour. The Dark elf looked over at the rest of the group. Their faces were locked in shock and anger. Half-elven sent him a pleading look that he ignored. All the same, for all their posturing, he and the young mage were _not _in control of this situation and it might be best to aquiesce without a fuss before Fewmaster decided they were simply not worth the bounty. He had no desire to die under goblin blades.

Raistlin must have come to the same conclusion, because after warning the goblins against laying a hand on either of them, he surrendered.

Dalamar did the same and followed the young mage over to the group.

He started to have second thoughts, however, where Toede demanded they hand over their belonging. His were not the problem, his spellbooks were warded and, while he hated losing his dagger, it couldn't be helped. The Disks of Mishakal were another matter entirely, and it took all of Raistlin's persuasion to convince Goldmoon that they would be quite safe.

If they were anything like the staff, the Dark elf thought, the Disks would be fine. His hands ached at the memory, they had healed well, but the memory was painful. At last, there was only one person left that wouldn't hand over his sword.

Sturm.

Again, Dalamar wondered if they might not be better off without the knight, sword-fodder or not.

Raistlin stepped closer to the Solamnic, speaking softly, "I will ensure its safety."

The knight turned to him, face contorted with hate. "I would rather hand it over to the draconians!"

The Red Robe met his gaze, measure for measure. "Then you will, but unless you want to see that hobgoblin-" a nod at Toede "-with your father's sword, then I suggest you trust me."

Sturm made to draw the blade, and not, Dalamar suspected, in order to hand it over. He stepped close to Raistlin and his fingers curled, a clear sign that though he'd given his spellbook over, he still had enough magic to attack.

Behind them, Toede threatened to kill them all if they didn't surrender their weapons. Stiffly, Sturm unsheathed the blade and lay it down on the pile of weaponry.

Raistlin was right, Fewmaster was very interested in the knight's fine sword, and the young mage made good of his promise, casting a spell of protection on the weapons, a spell so vile that none wanted to go near them, let alone touch them.

Dalamar was the only one, standing close to his wizard companion, to notice the telltale marks of flashpowder on the golden skin of his hands.

Their eyes met, and the mages shared a smile even as they were herded out of the inn and into the wreckage of Solace.

_Skull Bearer._


	14. Of Illness

_Tsukiyo no Yume: But Sturm will die... Kit turns him into a shish-kebab, remember? Although Dalamar will get something of a revenge too.  
As for returning home... well, Qualinesti might not be home to Dalamar, but it's close enough to hurt._

_Myar: I actually, have an old (read: falling apart) copy of DoAT which I'm scribbling notes in for this fic!_

_Dalamar Nightson: Glad you like, it's partly address in this chapter._

_Thank you to Chetwynd for the beta and the helpful notes._

**Crepuscule**

Chapter fourteen- Of Illness

_When the sun comes down  
When the rain wash away  
All the hopes I can bring  
To another day  
Another day  
-Lost Prophets, Sway._

Dalamar shivered, and Raistlin burrowed against him, trying to warm his lover and himself at the same time. He was starting to regret giving himself up.

They had been crammed into an iron barred cage, one of three-wheeled cages that were standing in what had once been Solace's town square. Raistlin looked around gloomily, beset by memories of this place. The Spring Dawning Festival took place here, he recalled, remembering good times and bad. All gone now, and the knowledge that it would have looked the same to him even if the dragons had not come brought no relief. Tomorrow they would take them... north presumably, to the heart of what was happening. The young mage just wished they could have travelled to the place in a different fashion.

The cold wasn't the most pressing problem, although it wasn't helping either. Raistlin's cough wouldn't stop. It had been hours since he'd taken his tea, and while he was fairly confident it wouldn't kill him -Fistandantilus would see to that- it was horribly painful.

Dalamar pulled him a little closer, hands still rubbing his back, offering what ease he could.

No one spoke, not even the kender, they were all too caught up in their own thoughts and fears. The two mages were more or less left alone save for Caramon, who kept sliding over and asking his twin if he was _sure_ there was nothing he could do to help, and the elven newcomer -Gilthanas, Tanis called him- who kept scowling at Dalamar.

They had not met many elves in their travels, in this dangerous time most of them stayed in their forests, so Raistlin could only speculate on this one's reaction. All that was clear was that he hated the Dark elf on principle. Dalamar's hand slid up and cupped the young mage's face. "Ignore him," he whispered.

Raistlin would have laughed, but only coughed. He had expected he would have been the one to calm the Dark elf down! Very strange. He rested his cheek on his lover's chest, forcing the thoughts out of his mind and focusing on one thing -breathing.

Behind him, he felt Dalamar relax against the bars. "Go to sleep," the Dark elf murmured. "They won't come until morning."

It couldn't have been comfortable for his lover, with his back against the bars, but Raistlin's cough kept him awake long after theDark elf have managed to find rest. He must have slept however, because the next thing Raistlin knew, he was being woken by shouts, the clash of steel, and finally a deafening cry of rage and agony. The young wizard tried to stand, but doubled over again. If anything, his cough had only worsened.

Dalamar too sat up, looking around for the source of the scream. Gilthanas' eyes widened. He knew the voice, he explained. It was Theros Ironfeld, the blacksmith Tika had feared for. Someone had betrayed him.

A group of goblins, headed by Toede, hurried into view, dragging a heavily built man who appeared to be unconscious. Fewmaster opened the door to their cage and ordered to goblins to throw the man inside before leaving them to to hitch up the slave caravan. Apparently it was time to leave. Raistlin fought back the cough and looked over Half-elven's shoulder at Theros Ironfeld. He was unconscious, and no surprise. Someone had hacked the smith's arm off below the shoulder. Blood ran freely from the mangled limb and pooled on the floor. Raistlin blinked, glad when his cursed eyes turned the grisly scene to dust.

"Let that be an example to all those who help elves!" Fewmaster Toede laughed, eyes narrowed at Dalamar and Gilthanas. "He won't be forging anything ever again -unless it's a new arm!" With a snort, the hobgoblin turned and walked straight into the elk harnessed to their cage.

The coughing fit Raistlin had been trying to hold back grew too strong, and again he was forced to hunch over against the pain, hacking up blood. In between spasms, he watched as Goldmoon appealed to Mishakal to heal Theros, keeping his eyes locked on them as the healing worked, the dreadful wound closing, although the man did not wake up. Raistlin drew in a painful breath, and smiled weakly at Dalamar when the Dark elf started rubbing his back again.

The air warmed as the sun rose, and it was noon before the slave caravan started moving, followed by a troop of three score draconians and twice as many hobgoblins.

It was a depressing sight.

* * *

By the end of the first day, Raistlin couldn't help but wonder whether he had been wrong in believing that the cough wouldn't kill him. Perhaps Fistandantilus thought that now would be an excellent time to finish him off and steal his body. It was the only explanation he could think of, although to be fair, it was hard to think about anything in this state. The pain in his lungs was making it nearly impossible to breathe, and what air he managed to take in was bought with blood. Sometimes even that wouldn't be enough and he would black out and hover somewhere between waking and sleep, barely aware of what was going on. Dalamar was constantly beside him, and while Raistlin wasn't surprised- in his place, he would have done the same, he was deeply grateful. To have to deal with this alone would be so very worse, particularly if Caramon decided to get involved. The two of them sat in a corner of the cage, Dalamar with his back against the bars, with Raistlin lying beside him, his head in his lap. There was little to mark time, and Raistlin soon lost track of the days. The only thing he had to go on was when their captors gave them water, although Dalamar had told him there was little pattern to this routine.

All the same, he guessed it must have been several days since they had left Solace that they met the old man. He had been fairly lucid that morning; he could recall Tika asking Dalamar if there was anything she could do to help and the Dark elf's curt answer that, unless she could get some herbs and a mug of hot water then no, and if she was so desperate to impress Caramon, she could do it elsewhere. He had drifted off then, and the next thing he remembered, though hazily, was his lover holding him upright and helping him drink. Raistlin recalled his rage at being so helpless that he couldn't drink water without aid. The liquid had rasped down his torn throat bringing more pain than relief and tasting of his own blood- an all too familiar taste during these last few days. The rest of the day was a blur, until the jerk as the wagon stopped roused him.

He looked up at Dalamar, coughing weakly. The Dark elf pulled him closer and rubbed his back in an effort to stop the spasms. For the first time since they'd been locked up, Raistlin saw his lover crack a smile. He tried to speak, to ask what was going on, "What-" His cracked, broken voice failed and he broke off, coughing. He felt utterly worn out, without the energy to hold back the spasms or even block out the pain.

Dalamar shook his head. "Don't speak. They've just stopped to pick up this mad old man. He looks like a magic user, which is probably the only reason they didn't kill him on the spot."

"I say, that's not very nice!" Raistlin couldn't see who said that. The coughing fit made him lose his hold on consciousness, and he passed out again. If this kept on, he thought muzzily, only semi-conscious, it wouldn't be long before he lost himself completely. _Was_ this Fistandantilus' plan? Had the rotting creature gotten sick of waiting and decided to act now? He had never been this sick before.  
Briefly, Raistlin wished he had told Dalamar the truth about his Test. If he was going to die, the Dark elf had a right to know the truth. Except it didn't look as though he would get the chance, not if his cough persisted in worsening. He couldn't draw on the old lich's power to control the spasms, he was unable to focus. A few wisps of the waking world slipped through to him then, and he felt a hand on his forehead. Not Dalamar's hand, cool and slender and comforting, but a gnarled old one.

Fistandantilus! Raistlin's confused mind screamed, then common sense kicked in and the unknown man's words filtered through the mass of pain fogging his thought.

"I am not who you think I am, but Fistandantilus _will _release his hold on you. This is not the time and he knows it."

The pain abated immediately and Raistlin opened his eyes in a flash, kicking out to get away from the old man who was kneeling beside him. The young mage shot backwards and rammed into one of the cage bars.

The world came into focus for the first time in days.

He was slumped in a corner of the slave caravan, as far away from the man as he could get. The old man in question was kneeling nonchalantly next to a very shocked-looking Dalamar. The Dark elf's face was drawn, the last few days had taken more out him than Raistlin had realised. The rest of the prisoners had stopped whatever it was they had been doing and were staring at him, save for Theros, who was still out cold.

The young mage turned his attention back to the old man, who was, he realised, most likely, the madman Dalamar had told him of earlier. He didn't look that insane to him, and no one, mad or sane, could have known of Fistandantilus -unless he had been talking in his delirium... But no, Dalamar would have looked a lot angrier if he had known. As it was, the Dark elf just looked bewildered.

Well, that made two of them. He saw a flicker of astonishment flash across the old man's face before it was replaced by a broad smile. "Hullo, name's -um- Fizban."

Well, here was one act he was _not_ falling for.

The man was dressed in grey robes that may have once been white. "You are... magi?" He mentally winced at the hoarse whisper of his voice, but at least his cough was gone. This presumed madman had scared off Fistandantilus, and he would not be forgetting that little fact in a hurry.

* * *

"What was that about?"

Raistlin winced. Now that Fizban -or whoever he was- had gone off to entertain Tasslehoff, he had to face Dalamar. It would only have been fair to tell the Dark elf the truth- the last few days must have been just as unpleasent for him. But he didn't want to tell him, for reasons that went deeper than simply not wanting to burden his lover with the truth. He wasn't sure what it was, but it was linked with the fact that his lover _still_ didn't trust him. It the elven mage could justify keeping secrets to himself, then the human wizard could too. It was a small and petty lie, but it was enough for Raistlin to avoid the question.

"He knew things," the young mage whispered. "Things I have never told anyone." If he might not feel comfortable telling Dalamar, the least he could was to tell the truth.

"Things about your Test." The Dark elf's eyes grew dark.

"Yes." Despite whatever the old man had done, Raistlin felt his throat tighten in warning. He swallowed back the urge to cough.

They lapsed into silence. Dalamar didn't ask to know more. He seemed to have resigned himself to the fact that Raistlin would never tell him, although that didn't mean for a moment that he liked or even accepted it. He just didn't ask.

The silence hung between them like a lead weight.

* * *

The newfound awkwardness was an unpleasant addition to an already unpleasant situation. Raistlin knew that the Dark elf had probably tried to get information out of Fizban and given up in despair at the old man's behaviour. According to Tanis, they would have been travelling for four days come morning. The Red Robe sighed and hugged his knees. It had seemed like much longer.

He looked around the small cage, then walked over to sit beside Dalamar. The Dark elf had been sitting in a corner, lost in his own thoughts. It was awkward between them, that was the only word for it. Something that had never been there before; no matter how they had disagreed in the past, it had never threatened to drive a wedge between them like it did now.

"Dalamar."

The Dark elf didn't look up, ignoring him as utterly as if he had been Gilthanas. The former Silvanesti and the Qualinesti were coping with each other's presence by pretending the other didn't exist. And as much as the elven warrior deserved that treatment, Raistlin knew he didn't.

"Dalamar, we have been over this before."

"But it hasn't had this much impact before," the Dark elf answered, a flash of anger showing through his impassive facade. "You don't want to talk about your Test. Very well, I didn't want to talk about my past. But I told you, when it became important I told you. I told you because I knew it would affect you. All I want is for you to return that courtesy. But no. Raistlin Majere will have his secrets."

"My secrets?" Dalamar wasn't the only one beginning to lose his temper. "What of yours? You tell me to my face that you do not trust me. Am I to believe that you have told me everything?"

"I do not trust you," Dalamar hissed, "because I _cannot_ trust anyone! Do you believe I don't want to? I would love to be able to trust you, not to jump to the worst conclusions at every turn, but I can't. All I want is you to prove me wrong, to prove that I should trust you, and I can't if you persist in keeping such secrets from me. Yes, I keep secrets, but I reveal them when they threaten to affect our lives. Your little secret almost killed you, yet you still refuse to tell me!"

Raistlin sighed, anger escaping him. His mind felt muddled, as if someone had shaken everything around. When did everything become so complicated? So confusing that he found it hard to hold a thought in his mind?

The elven mage closed his eyes, shaking his head. "I want to believe you have a reason for keeping this from me, and to be honest, everything you've done prior to this has proven that I can trust you. But I find it hard to imagine what."

"I can't tell you," Raistlin answered, "because it would only hurt you and there is nothing we can do about it. If there is, then believe me, you will be the first to know. But for now, please don't ask." He had to believe that.

The Dark elf sighed, opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again with another sigh, shaking his head.

They sat in silence, listening to the wagons bounce over loose rocks. This place was familiar, Raistlin realised with a jolt, and then bit down a bitter laugh. Of course it was familiar! He had been here before, long ago, when Theobald had sent him to barter spell components from the elves.

And when he had first met Dalamar.

Gods, things were so much simpler then. Looking back, Raistlin found he could barely recall the young man who had left Solace so long ago. He was so lost in his thoughts that he jumped when his lover took his hand. The Dark elf smiled; clearly, he remembered this place too. They sat in silence, feeling the tension drain away, listening to the rattle of the wagons, the silence making the bird calls abnormally loud in the still morning.

Dalamar sat up suddenly. Another call sounded, closer this time, then closer still, and then Raistlin was staring at Gilthanas in amazement as the elf put his fingers to his lips and returned the call.

"Qualinesti," Dalamar breathed. "We're near Qualinesti. Get down!"

The air was split with the unmistakable whirring of arrows as the two mages flattened themselves against the cage floor. Screams echoed around them as the arrows found their marks. The driver of their caravan was shot and the wagon rolled to a halt.

"What is it? What's going on?" Tanis shouted at Gilthanas over the noise.

"Porthios!" the elf called back.

"Tanis, what's happening?" Sturm looked bewildered.

"Porthios is Gilthanas' brother. I take it this is a rescue," Tanis answered.

"It won't be much of a rescue if we all end up dead!" Sturm ducked as an arrow flew over his head. "I thought elves were supposed to be expert marksmen!"

"Keep low," Gilthanas commanded. "The arrows are only to cover our escape. This is a strike and run raid. My people are not capable of attacking a large force directly. We must be ready to run for the woods."

"And how do we get out of these cages?"

"We cannot do everything for you! There are magic users-" Gilthanas sent Raistlin and Dalamar a hostile look.

Raistlin was about to ask the elven warrior exactly _how_ they were supposed to magic their way out without spell components, not to mention that in his delirium he had forgotten what spells he had. Dalamar stopped him before he spoke, laying a hand on his arm.

"I still have a spell." He sent the others a cold glance, making it clear he was not doing this for _their_ benefit, before kneeling down next to the lock.

Raistlin smiled as he recognised the words the Dark elf spoke. They hadn't known, when they had found it in those ruins, just how useful the little spell would be. It worked as well as ever, disintegrating the lock. Dalamar kicked the door open and dropped out.

"Why didn't you do that from the start?" Tanis was incredulous.

"And then what?" the Dark elf snorted. "Get caught and shut up again? This is the first chance we've had of escaping!"

"And if we'd been dragged to the slave mines without getting that chance?" Sturm demanded.

Dalamar grinned, obviously glad to take out his frustrations of the last few days on so willing a target. "Why, then I'd have freed Raistlin and myself, and we'd have left you all to rot."

The Half-elf had to grab hold of the Solamnic to stop him from attacking the dark mage.

Raistlin slipped out of the cage and sneered, "Don't forget, knight, if it wasn't for him, we'd all have been slaughtered." He nodded back to where he had seen a gang of draconians making their way towards them.

Tanis scowled, but the threat present by the draconians was too much to overlook. "Fine! Caramon, get our weapons from the supply wagon. Sturm, go with him. Flint and Tasslehoff, get the packs. Raistlin-"

"I will get my pack and staff. No one may touch them but me." He felt irked that Half-elven would think to order him about as he would Caramon, he turned to walk to the abandoned supply wagon, Dalamar in tow. Gilthanas clearly thought the same because he left soon after.

"I take it he doesn't like Tanis," Raistlin remarked, finding his backpack and staff. He had heard about the elven warrior long ago, when he and the Half-elf had still been on speaking terms. Gilthanas was a member of the Speaker of the Sun's family, and had grown up with Tanis.

Dalamar shrugged, picking up his pack and dagger. "They had an argument while you were unconscious. He wanted to know what Half-human was doing, travelling with a Dark elf."

The Red Robe gave a thin smile, which quickly faded. "Will they let you into Qualinesti?"

"Of course not." Dalamar shrugged. "You know that. But if we manage to hide on the outskirts until dusk, we could creep away safely."

The young mage thought for a moment, and glanced back to where the draconians had caught up with the rest of the group. _They_ were holding their own, but Raistlin knew that if the two of them were ambushed they would be hard-pressed to survive. He glanced at the woods, they would be safest with the elves, and while of course he would never abandon Dalamar, it would be best if he could find some way of convincing them. A flicker of plan formed in Raistlin's mind; and he grasped Dalamar's arm and pulled him towards the wood and away from more approaching draconians.

They hadn't gone halfway before a hail of arrows shot out and rained down on their pursuers. The rest of the group ran for the trees, arriving there just as ten elves, led by Gilthanas, ran out. At the sight of Dalamar, they froze, and Raistlin saw one of two knock a new arrow to their bows. His heart jumped, and he hoped his plan could work. It would be a pretty fate if they survived the slave caravan only to be killed by their rescuers.

To his relief, Gilthanas lifted a hand to stop the over-zealous archers and turned to Dalamar, speaking to him for the first time. "You know perfectly well you cannot enter." He spat the words out.

Raistlin narrowed his eyes, now to see if his plan would work. It was simple, and he was relying on his brother being even simpler. He spoke before Dalamar could formulate an answer. "Then we will both stay," his voice was flat, forestalling any argument.The Qualinesti prince stared at him in surprise.

"If Raist's staying, then so am I." Caramon. The young wizard clenched his hands; good, his brother's misguided sense of loyalty had prompted him to follow as he had hoped.

"We can't leave them here-" Riverwind started.

Tanis interrupted, glancing back to the caravan. "Gilthanas, please. If you don't let Dalamar in, Raistlin won't come, and if Raistlin won't come, then his brother will stay too, and if Caramon stays, so will everyone else. We don't have time for this, that Dark elf saved our lives in the wagon; we wouldn't have got out without him. Please, Gilthanas."

The elf threw his arms up in despair. "Fine!" He turned to Dalamar. "But you're the one vouching on his good behaviour, Talthanas. And one move, Dark elf-" He glowered at Dalamar- "one move, and I order my men to shoot you."

Dalamar, who was about three inches taller than the prince, looked down on the elf in distain. A distain, Raistlin knew, mostly false. He knew the Dark elf well enough to know when he was hiding pain behind his eyes. For a moment, he wondered if Dalamar would refuse to come with them- had he been alone, Raistlin suspected he would have. As it was, he glanced at Raistlin, then nodded stiffly.

_Skull Bearer._


	15. Of Pain

_Dalamar's joke courtesy of Dragonlance Underground- Krynnish Light bulb Jokes._

_This chapter was incredibly hard to get up, not to write, but to post up. Since my internet is still down I had to recieve and post it at an internet cafe. Anyway, merry christmas to all of you and by the gods, leave reviews!_

_Tsukiyo no Yume: The elves can be right bastards, can't they? Only to be emphasised in this chapter, the companions are entering Qualinesti, and no one's happy Dalamar's coming. Least of all Dalamar himelf..._

_Dalamar Nightson: Thank you for reviewing all the chapters! I'm glad you like it._

**Crepuscule**

Chapter 15 - Of Pain.

_When your trees start to sway  
And the wind makes them move  
I can tell that  
You don't know  
-Lost Prophets, Sway_

Although Dalamar was infinitly grateful that the elves had allowed them into Qualinesti, it was purely for Raistlin's sake. Had he been the only one at risk, he would had far prefered taking his chances with the draconians.

And how could it be different, when every step drove an emotional dagger deeper into the unhealed wounds of his exile? It was too familiar, this place, and it hurt in ways that even Raistlin, with whom he had shared almost ever waking thought, would never understand.

It was not the place itself, but the underlying feeling of it, reminding him of the connection he had lost. Before, it had been possible to disregard it. In other lands, he could ignore the pain until he forgot it even hurt, until the pain was banished into dreams and he'd covered it with so many layers of ice and steel, he could forget it ever existed. But it still hurt, he knew that now. It hurt a lot. It wasn't anything tangible, nor was it a memory- his life in Silvanesti had been anything but idyllic. All elves had a deep connection to their land, and exile broke it. Dalamar had shut himself off to it when he had been banished; it had hurt too much to cope with, then or now, so he had done his best to forget it, until he could barely remember what it felt like. He remembered now, just as he remembered exactly why most elves preferred death to exile. And he remembered just how close he himself had sometimes come to making that very choice.

He'd drawn his hood down over his face, and slid his hands into the sleeves of his robe. A clear message that he wanted to be left alone, huddling into his robes like a tortoise into it's shell, trying to block out the world.

Raistlin had understood, he had fallen into step behind him but hadn't spoken since they'd started walking. Dalamar was grateful, he didn't want to talk.

No one had approached him; the most he'd received had been a few ugly looks from the elves, who were obviously furious at having to break the long held taboo of banishment. Dalamar felt the cold knotting of anger inside him, and felt himself longing to lash out. How dared they look at him like this? How dared they drag him through this, re-open wounds he had spent years in closing? He felt a flash of anger towards Raistlin, then brutally stamped on it. Dalamar raised a hand to rub his face, and one of the guards started, raising his spear as if expecting the Dark elf to attack. Dalamar snarled at him, and the elf took a step back and turned away quickly.

They were to an open glade where the rest of the caravan's prisoners were milling around. One of the elves was trying to retain order and ordering the refugees to go south. Goldmoon took objection to this treatment, shouting at the elf's callousness, who did not back down. It was only when Gilthanas spoke to him that the elflord calmed. Apparently, the newcomer was his brother, Porthios.

Well, whoever he was, the elflord was not pleased to see them, even less pleased at the sight of Tanis, and furious at the sight of Dalamar. Porthios took a step forward when he saw the Dark elf, his hand going to his sword, and it was only Gilthanas' intervention that prevented the situation from escalating into a bloodshed. Even after his brother had explained, the elf lord's eyes were still narrowed with hate and his hand remained on the hilt of his sword. Dalamar bared his teeth, reaching for his dagger. If that fool thought him an easy target, he'd soon learn of his error.

Porthios turned away first, glaring at Gilthanas, before stalking away, motioning the others to follow. At his gesture, two dozen elven warriors stepped out of the trees and shepherded them forwards.

One particularly angry or daring elf made to jab at Dalamar with his spear. He sidestepped the blow and snarled at the fool, "Do not touch me."

Porthios turned, speaking to the elven mage for the first time, "You are in no position to make demands, Dark elf."

Dalamar bit back the remark he desperately wanted to make. As in Silvanesti, as in Darken Wood, he had no say here. He would have to do as commanded because they would be looking for an excuse to kill him. He was surrounded by enemies and would do well to not forget that fact.

He felt a light touch on his arm. He turned and met Raistlin's eyes. The red robed mage motioned him to lag back with him.

Dalamar pulled away; he didn't want to talk. He felt cold and angry, and knew Raistlin would never understand what he was feeling. Nor would he want him to. His attitude wasn't fair on his lover, but at this moment, Dalamar couldn't stand anyone's company.

Raistlin seemed to understand. He tightened his grip on the Dark elf's arm briefly, offering comfort, then drew back. _When you want to talk, I'll be here._

Dalamar sighed, a little of the tension and pain dispelled by the subtle show of support.

* * *

The journey was not one Dalamar would be anxious to repeat. It passed in silence and, even without the dark mutterings and the constant threat of his guides becoming his executioners, it was truly painful. 

He had never been inside Qualinesti before, the closest he had come was to the edges of the elven forest. And that only twice, once while coming from Tarsis, where he had met Raistlin for the first time, and another while the two of them had been travelling to the Tower of High Sorcery in Wayreth. So why was it, when they arrived at the edge of a high cliff overlooking the city of Qualinost, that Dalamar felt as though someone had twisted a knife into his heart? It was not that the city resembled Silvanost; they were truly different places. But the differences recalled his old home every bit as well as the similarities, everything there reminding him of a place he would never see again, the very beauty of the city scraping on his raw nerves like sandpaper.

It was a relief when Gilthanas led them out of sight of Qualinost, into a small grove of trees. They were to stop here for a while, the elflord informed them before walking over to stand with his brother. Dalamar slid to the ground, only now realising how tired he was. They had been given little food in the slave caravans, and the walk had drained him of what little energy he had.

Raistlin sat beside him. He didn't talk, but simply stayed close, his slender hand on Dalamar's arm, giving what comfort he could, and for that, the elven wizard was thankful. Bad enough to be suffering through this together, he found it hard to imagine how painful it would be alone.

"Dalamar-" Raistlin started.

The Dark elf pulled away, he didn't want to talk. "No."

The young mage stiffened at the abrupt rebuff, golden eyes closing for a moment before he nodded his acceptance and turned away.

Some part of Dalamar felt gratified at Raistlin's hurt reaction, after all, it was because of him they were here to begin with, and he hadn't forgotten thair argument in the slave caravans. He knew that he didn't really believe any of this, he was simply hurting and angry and lashing out at anyone who came near him, and so tired -both mentally and physically- that he couldn't banish the emotion.

Over to one side, Gilthanas and Tanis had been talking, and now the elflord turned back to the group and asked them to follow him. Reluctantly, Dalamar got to his feet. Bitterly he wondered if he might have been better off dodging draconians on the road. A pointless thought. This could have been Silvanesti and he would still have entered for Raistlin's sake, no matter how agonising it would have been.

Again, he walked in silence, unable to dredge up enough curiosity to eavesdrop the continuing conversation between Gilthanas and Half-elven. The two were walking close together, whispering in elven. Brushing them both out of his mind, and wishing he could get rid of his emotions so easily, Dalamar couldn't help but look around. They were back in sight of the city, and again Dalamar felt the deep tearing pain inside him, a reminder of the connection he had once had and had lost. So close to the feeling of his old home to taunt him with memories, but different enough to make it impossible to soothe the old wounds.

But perhaps that was for the best. It would be far worse to feel the connection with the land again, and to know that he would only lose it anew. Banishment all over again. The reminder that he would never be rid of this pain was clearer than ever, as was the one that the pain would never grow any less, no matter how long he lived. Dalamar was so lost in his thoughts that, when Tanis stopped, he nearly walked straight into the half-elf's back.

Tanis didn't notice. "Leaving Qualinesti?" He was shocked enough to switch to common.

Dalamar stared. Gilthanas sent him a black look and nodded to Tanis.

"You can't mean it!" The half-elf had switched back to elven. "Leaving Qualinesti! Why? Surely things aren't so bad-"

"They are worse," Gilthanas said shortly. "And if you don't tell that pet Dark elf of yours to stop eavesdropping, we will make sure he never tells anyone about this -or anything else- again."

Half-elven spun around; clearly, he hadn't noticed Dalamar and was not pleased to see him now. The elven mage gave them both a death's-head grin and a mocking bow before stepping away. So they thought him a spy? So be it. The first one to challenge him would bear the brunt of all the rage, pain, and loss that had been heaped on him since he'd set foot in this place. He would be all too happy to share it.

It was true that the elves were leaving Qualinesti, although it was not immediately obvious and Dalamar had shut off that part of himself for so long that it was hard to read the signs. To read them in the faces of those passing or hear of it in the trees. The trees were different here, and he had almost forgotten how to listen to them. But there was no mistaking the whispers of loss. The tension in the beautiful city was so palpable that he was almost expecting Caramon to have noticed. The shared fear and pain in the place was enough to send cold shivers up his spine.

Dalamar suddenly realised what he was doing and forced himself to focus. What was it to him what happened here? he reminded himself. This was not Silvanesti, but even if it were, what would it change? This was not his place, had never been, even before he had been banished. Yes, he missed his homeland, but to open himself to the feelings of this place was only to invite more pain when he was forced to leave.

The knot inside him seemed to loosen a little at the realisation and he turned to look at their guides. Elves all, they belonged to this place as he didn't, and there wasn't one of them that wouldn't destroy him given half a chance. Despite the beauty of this place and the memories it dredged up, Qualinost was no less dangerous than Darken Wood, and he would do well to remember that.

Dalamar closed his eyes, and, like in Darken Wood, pulled himself together, the feeling of danger clearing his mind. It still hurt to be here, but the pain no longer clouded his thoughts. Even so, it was hard to fight down the stab inside him when he saw the Tower of the Sun. Like the rest of Qualinesti, it was at once similar and different to the counterpart he remembered, the Tower of the Stars in Silvanesti.

Still, he fought down the pain, forcing himself to look though the haze of hindsight and nostalgia. He would have never been able to enter the Tower of the Stars the way he was entering its Qualinost counterpart, Dalamar knew. He had been of house Servitor, and if he was ever allowed into the place, it was to work in the kitchens. His life had been far from ideal, and to pretend it had been was to lie to himself. He had far too many real pains to add false ones to it.

It was cool inside as they were led to a small alcove, and even that insignificant room was decorated and carved into a thing of beauty. Basins and pitchers of water were placed there, and again the Dark elf was reminded of Darken Wood; they had ignored his presence again. Somehow, the sheer pettiness made the pain inside him easier to bear. In reminding him of Darken Wood, it made everything less personal, and it made him remember, once again, the bad things of his old life.

He shared Raistlin's basin, shooting the younger mage an apologetic look while he washed his hands. He had taken his pain out on his lover earlier, when it had hardly been his fault.

Raistlin smiled, hands slipping into the water to touch the Dark elf's, fingers linking.

Dalamar was surprised to feel his lips twitching into a wry smile, and felt Raistlin kiss the side of his face lightly.

Here too was something he had never had in Silvanesti.

* * *

He had just washed away the dust from his throat, when Porthios appeared and ordered them to follow him. 

Dalamar had never been into a Speaker's chamber. Even in Silvanesti, he had been banned from entering that of the ruler of the eastern elves. So he was just as awestruck as the rest of the companions. The chamber seemed immense, and ornately decorated, and the sight of such drew out the pain again. The place was an image of everything the Dark elf had missed in his exile. The sheer beauty was enough to make him turn away, it hurt too much. To try and distance himself, he looked up at the ceiling. That too had been decorated, inlayed with a mosaic that mirrored the sky. Half of the dome was given to the day, blue sky and golden sun, while the other was to the night, to the stars and the two moons. Then Dalamar gave a thin smile. A few tiles had fallen out in the night mosaic, and the hole resembled nothing less than the moon of his patron, Nuitari.

The sight gave him strength, strength enough to lift his eyes and meet those of the Heads of Households. The elves looked disgruntled at having to accommodate the likes of humans and dwarves, although they limited themselves to forbidding looks. Sturm had his fair share of shocked expressions, and there were more than a few mutters at the sight of Raistlin in his red robes. They had no such restraint at the sight of Dalamar. The chamber rang with outraged hisses, and one elf actually stepped forward, looking at the Dark elf with loathing. "Speaker!" he demanded, looking over at an older elf -presumably the Speaker- dressed in yellow robes. "I demand to know the reason for this outrage. To allow a Dark elf within our lands! And at this time of war!"

"Enough, Rashas," the Speaker commanded, although his eyes lingered on the elven mage, and he looked no more pleased than anyone else at the sight of him. "There will be time enough after this. They are going nowhere."

The elf subsided, muttering and shooting dark looks at everyone.

Raistlin came to stand beside Dalamar. He probably thought that the response would hurt his lover, but in truth, if anything, it made it easier to bear. It would have been far worse for him had the elves been cordial. As it was, it would make it much easier to leave this place. In fact, Dalamar already wanted to.

Raistlin took Dalamar's hand and the Dark elf sent him a quick look, reassuring him that he would be fine.

It wasn't this so much as the suspicious mutterings of those close enough to see them hold hands that prompted Dalamar to do what he did next: He kissed Raistlin lightly on the cheek, then looked out of the corner of his eye of watch the reaction. He spotted the outspoken elf first, and had to hide a smile. The Dark elf had never seen anyone turn quite that shade of puce before. It was petty, but right now Dalamar was in the mood for some sort of revenge, no matter how small.

Deciding he had pushed his luck enough for one day, Dalamar stepped back away from the scrutiny of the crowd, pulling Raistlin with him. They listened to Gilthanas and Porthios as they spoke to their father. It was little more than they already knew, although the Speaker mentioned a raid on Pax Tharkas, and the two mages shared a quick look. So Pax Tharkas, symbol of peace, had been dragged into this war too?

Gilthanas continued, describing how his group had fallen foul of a draconian patrol and how he had been left for dead. Gasps of shock rose as he portrayed Solace's destruction, and how his men had been executed, burnt to ashes by the breath of a red dragon. The dragon had a rider, the elf continued, a cleric of the Dark Queen by the name of Verminaard. Dalamar remembered the missing constellations and nodded slightly to himself. It made sense. And Verminaard -hadn't the black dragon of Xak Tsaroth mentioned him? So the man had not only black, but also red dragons at his command. Therefore, Goldmoon was not the only one with the powers of the old Gods.

And it was that power that Gilthanas was now recalling, telling them all how she had healed Theros Ironfeld. The Speaker's face registered nothing but disbelief at that proclamation, and he commanded Goldmoon to step forward. At the sight of the medallion of Mishakal, he became enraged. "Blasphemy!" The Speaker lunged forward to rip the medallion from the Plainswoman's throat. There was a flare of blue light and the elven ruler was thrown back.

Dalamar took a step back as swords were drawn, reaching for his pouch of spell components. Beside him, Raistlin did the same, the two mages readying themselves for the fight.

"Stop this nonsense!" The Dark elf looked around and stared at the sight of Fizban. The mad old magician strolled up to the rostrum, pushing past the guards without a second thought.

Dalamar was starting to understand why Raistlin was so suspicious of the old mage: None of the elves made a move to stop the man, although the Dark elf could see in their eyes that they certainly wanted to. Yet, no one opposed Fizban as he reached the Speaker and helped him to his feet, muttering inanely to himself and waving his hat all over the place. Still, despite this eccentric behaviour, the result was unmistakable: The Speaker blinked, and turned back to Goldmoon, a vague expression on his face as he apologised, and let her tell her story.

Yes, there was definitely something strange about the white robe, Dalamar thought, staring at the Speaker's dreamy expression as the Plainswoman finished her narration. An expression that vanished however, when the Speaker's eyes locked on him. The ruler of the Qualinesti looked over at his son, grim faced. "You have not explained why, in this time of such danger, you have broken our laws and brought a Dark elf into our midst. To do such a thing even in a time of peace..."

"His companions have vouched for his behaviour," Gilthanas answered, shortly. "He was locked in the slave cages with the rest, and was the one who got us out of there in the first place. The others would not have come with us without him."

"But still..." He looked back at Dalamar. "You! You were from Silvanesti, were you not?"

The Dark elf stepped forward, sending Raistlin a short look telling him to stay put, and gave the Speaker a look that was just this side of mocking. "I'm sure they would deny it if you asked them."

One of the guards cracked him across the back with the butt of his spear, and Dalamar fell to his knee, the blow had knocked the wind out ofn him and he was again forcibly reminded of Darken Wood. Raistlin helped him to his feet, glaring daggers at the guards before looking down at his lover, warning him to hold his tongue.

"Answer the question." The Speaker repeated, although Dalamar saw him glare at the guard who had struck him. The elf backed away.

"Yes," Dalamar forced out. His back was screaming and he couldn't stand up straight. He stared malevolently at the Speaker through narrowed eyes.

The Speaker nodded. "The Silvanesti had let in dragonarmy emissaries."

"What?" Anger and pain was swept away by sheer shock; the very idea seemed ridiculous. The people who had exiled him for worshiping a deity of darkness, welcome those who followed the self-same Gods? Who not only followed such Gods, but killed in their name? It sounded impossible. But then again, perhaps it wasn't all that surprising, if the dragonarmies had offered to leave them alone... Yes, an offer of neutrality would have been very agreeable to his old people.

"You did not know this?" The Speaker looked at him disbelievingly.

"I was exiled ten years ago," Dalamar spat, the words like nails of slate to his ears. Ten years this winter. Dear Nuitari, it sounded so short a time. He glanced over at Raistlin and felt the cold knot loosen a little, a reminder that not all of those ten years had been unpleasent.

"We will have him watched," Gilthanas was saying. "Any attempt to betray us-" His glare told Dalamar exactly what he was being threatened with. Clearly, the elven reverance for life didn't extend_ that_ far.

There was a long pause. Dalamar took the opportunity to straighten up, ignoring the stabs of pain in his spine and chest.

Finally the Speaker addressed them, "I must consider this and what it means to us. But you are exhausted. My daughter, Lauranthalasa, will guide you to a place where you can forget your fears." Dalamar sneered. "We will hold a banquet in your honour tonight, for you bring us hope." He looked at Goldmoon for long moments before continuing, "May the peace of the true Gods go with you."

Dalamar blinked at the sight of the elfmaiden that came to stand beside her father. It had been a long time since he'd seen a woman that beautiful, not since he had seen Princess Alhana Starbreeze. He wasn't the only one staring; Caramon's mouth was even hanging open. The woman -Lauranthalasa- was slender and striking, with clear crystal eyes and the longest hair the Dark elf had yet seen, and unlike his lover, Dalamar could certainly appreciate feminine beauty-

He was brought back to himself with hard nudge in the ribs from a rather irate-looking Raistlin, who was the only one not looking impressed. Dalamar knew he would see her as she was, his curse did not affect elves -thank Nuitari- but also knew that his lover had never had any interest whatsoever with women, and even less after Amberyl.

The twisted memory was enough to shake any pleasure out of the situation, and he sent his lover an apologetic look, rubbing the side of his face where he had been hit. Raistlin lifted an eyebrow, smirking, and Dalamar smiled back. Raistlin had no need to feel threatened, if nothing else, the elfwoman wouldn't even look at him, compete for his attention. And besides, he might look, but it would be Raistlin's arms he'd sleep in tonight and he wouldn't have it any other way.

Tasslehoff was giggling shamelessly at their little interaction, but the others barely paid the two mages any attention. Dalamar was particularly interested with the way Tanis was looking at the elfmaid. It was so much like, yet unlike, the way he himself looked at Raistlin.

The two mages shared a glance, and Dalamar rolled his eyes. Honestly, the half-human got so uptight about _their_ relationship, while he himself was mooning after someone who was practically his sister. Dalamar wondered if he called out Lauranthalasa's name while with Kitiara. Probably. He shoved the thought out of his mind, he must truely be desperate for a iverstion if the best he could think of was Half-human's love life.

All the same, he did note the sharp look she paid Tanis, speaking to all of them, "I welcome you to Qualinost, honoured guests." Dalamar rubbed his aching back and snorted. "Please follow me. The way is not far, and there is food and drink at the end."

She moved past them, pausing only to look up at Tanis before leading them out of the chamber.

* * *

As unpleasant as the meeting with the Speaker had been, it had helped Dalamar gather his thoughts. He now wanted to leave Qualinesti as soon as possible. Unfortunately, this wasn't actually possible, since the Dark elf expected that any attempt to sneak away would be interpreted as an act of betrayal. In fact, the only thing that made this place any better than Darken Wood was the fact that no one here seemed interested in hurting Raistlin. 

They had been led to a grove of trees in the centre of the city, food had been brought, and they had been left to their own devices. Dalamar had washed off the filth of the last few days in a small brook that ran though the trees, and had sat down under one of the aspen trees, brooding.

Raistlin sat down next to him, one hand on the Dark elf's. "How are you feeling?"

Dalamar looked up, to where Laurana -as Half-elven called her- was talking with Flint. "Better."

"I had feared-"

The Dark elf leant forwards and nuzzled Raistlin's hair. "I know."

"They way they treated you-"

He laughed hollowly, "Worse if they had been kind to me. As it is, it just reminds me of what I hated when I lived in Silvanesti and made me want to leave all the sooner."

Raistlin smiled and nodded. "Do you believe he told you the truth? About Silvanesti?"

Dalamar's smile grew twisted. "Probably, if the dragonarmies offered to leave them alone. My old people never cared much for what happened outside their borders."

"So they think of the dragonarmies as someone else's problem, and leave them to it?"

"There's an old joke I used to hear inTarsis," Dalamar murmured. "'How many Silvanesti does it take to change a lamp wick?'"

Raistlin thought it over, then shrugged.

"'None. The humans burnt it out, let them fix it.'" The Dark elf looked up, smiling thinly.

Raistlin laughed softly and nodded.

Dalamar looked up suddenly, spotting Laurana walking towards them. He stared at her coldly. "Yes, what do you want?"

Unlike the other elves, the elfmaid didn't look angry at the sight of him, instead she looked frightened. She must have been told so many horror stories about Dark elves that she couldn't even look him in the face.

"I thought you might be hungry." She said hesitanantly,offering a basket to them. The smell of freshly baked bread made Dalamar's mouth water; it had been far too long since he'd eaten.

Still he hesitated, after the behaviour of everyone else they'd met here, he doubted that this was the only reason she had come, but still she didn't say or do anything but hold out the basket. Finally, when no terms seemed to be forthcoming, he reached out and took it from her. "Thank you."

Laurana backed away, as if afraid the Dark elf would attack her when her back was turned. The two mages looked at each other. Raistlin shrugged. "She was told to play the gracious hostess. Clearly, she thought that included you."

Dalamar looked back at Laurana, then shrugged. If the elfmaid wanted to treat him decently, he wouldn't be one to argue. Besides, the bread looked as though it would taste every bit as pleasant as it looked. They shared the food there and then, sitting under the trees, Raistlin occasionally dipping the bread in some water to make it easier to eat. The time passed in comfortable silence, enjoying the good food and even better company.

Dalamar scooted back, pushing the half-empty basket away. They had both eaten their fill and it would be hours before they were called. The clearing was quiet, the others either absent or asleep. Really, it had been far too long since they'd had this kind of privacy. And while they couldn't indulge themselves the way the Dark elf knew they would both certainly like to, it would be enough just to be together like this. He lent back against a tree, then reached out and grabbed Raistlin around the waist, pulling the startled mage into his lap.

Besides, there was always tonight.

Raistlin smiled turned in Dalamar's arms, kissing him, hands on his shoulders. The Dark elf kissed back, happily, his lips moving over Raistlin's, feeling the weight of the last few days -the slave caravan, Raistlin's illness, and their subsequent argument, the pain of being in elven lands- slip away. They were safe, they were whole, and they were together. And this, Dalamar realised, was something he would never, ever have had if he had stayed in Silvanesti.

He would never have had moments like this, relishing the slow build up of desire and delighting in each other.

Never would have been able to share so many moments together, the simple, loving companionship that Dalamar had come to rely on and treasure.

Never would have fallen in love with this most brilliant, incredible person.

And right now, with his hands wound around Raistlin's neck and the young mage's starting to slide under his robes, Dalamar decided that if he ever saw Alhana Starbreeze again, he would thank her.

_Please review. -begs-_

_Skull Bearer._


	16. Of Revenge

_In which everyone, including Tanis, has a chance to get revenge on the old character we all love to hate- at least, everyone who's read Second Generation..._

**Crepuscule**

Chapter sixteen: Of Revenge

_To all the fights I've conquered and beyond  
The times have changed and I will now move on slowly  
-Lost Prophets, Sway_

Though meant to be a joyous occasion, the feast in their honour was anything but. An uncomfortable hush hung over the table, which was laden with food that no one ate.

Raistlin and Dalamar were not even at the table, for which the human mage was glad. The Dark elf might have recovered somewhat from his melancholy mood, but he certainly didn't need to be reminded of it by the cold remarks of their so-called 'hosts'. Instead, they both sat beneath one of the aspens, away from the main group and in the shadows.

Neither of them ate much, Raistlin didn't have much of an appetite even at the best of times, which this certainly wasn't, and Dalamar barely ate at all, picking at his food worse than Half-elven.

The Red Robe looked over at the elves seated at the main table and scowled. He would not forget their actions this past day; having to watch his lover being treated so viciously had drawn cold anger. The Dark elf had compared this place to Darken Wood, and Raistlin could understand; the people here treated him little better than the spectres had. And here, as in the Forestmaster's domain, Raistlin would remember, and when the time came, he would pay them back in full.

Finally, Dalamar pushed his barely touched plate away, leant back against the tree, and sighed, smiling over at Raistlin almost apologetically. The red-robed mage put aside his own unfinished meal and smiled back.

The Dark elf craned his head back and closed his eyes for a moment. "This isn't very enjoyable, is it?"

The human wizard shook his head; so far, it hadn't been. They had been treated, at best, with strained cordiality, and at worse with outright revulsion. Dalamar had been depressed by even being here and had made no secret of his wish to leave as soon as possible. While Raistlin hadn't been treated nearly as badly as the Dark elf, his lover's mood was wearing on him. While he understood completely why the dark-robed mage felt that way, he was also glad they would be leaving soon.

But not soon enough for one member of the elven court, who had been entertaining himself by sending them both foul looks throughout the entire supper. The Red Robe recognised him as the one who had protested Dalamar's presence at the Speaker's chamber, and his dislike only increased. As if they didn't have enough problems already.

By the table, a soft chant in elvish was starting up, slow and sad, as the day drew to an end. Raistlin could see the shapes of Lunitari and Solinari in the early evening sky, and the small smile on Dalamar's face told him that the Dark elf's patron was also in sight.

His lover's firm faith in Nuitari was something that evoked both amusement and fondness in the human. While his own belief in the deities of magic was unshaken, the Silvanesti's devotion to his patron God was something Raistlin had never seen, except, perhaps, lately from Goldmoon. The comparison made him smile. He knew that neither would ever acknowledge the similarity.

One by one, the lamps around them were lit, until Raistlin's eyes had accustomed to the light enough that he could barely see the moons. But once the song ended -a long, sighing note of loss-, the lamps were blown out, and Lunitari and Solinari once again seemed huge in the night sky.

Judging by Dalamar's unshaken smile, he had barely noticed the light -or lack of it.

The Speaker of the Suns stood as the final chords died. Raistlin looked at him impassively; the Speaker was one of the few elves he saw die, and it was hard to be too impressed by what -to him- appeared to be a shrivelled, rotting corpse, and after seeing how the old elf treated Dalamar, it left him with little respect for the Speaker. Morbidly, he wondered how long it would be before Dalamar himself died in his sight. Raistlin was glad that he himself would probably be long dead before such a thing happened.

"And now, it is time for the meeting of the High Council. It will be held in the Hall of the Sky. Tanthalas, if you will lead your companions there."

Both mages got to their feet and followed Tanis. The Hall of the Sky was well named, Raistlin decided, seeing as it had no roof. Only a few torches lit the square, enough to illuminate without dazzling. The Speaker stood in the centre, with their little group around him. What appeared to be half the population of Qualinesti gathered around them.

"Here you see our situation," the Speaker explained, gesturing at the ground. The Red Robe looked down and noticed that everyone was standing on what appeared to be a huge map of Krynn. The elven ruler had placed himself where Qualinost was, Raistlin was on a range of bumps that marked the Barrier mountains, and Dalamar was actually standing on Xak Tsaroth.

Beside them, the map-loving kender could barely contain his excitement. "There's Solace!" he pointed out, delighted.

The Speaker nodded. "Yes, Kenderkin, and that is where the dragonarmies mass. In Solace and in Haven." He touched the spots on the map with his staff. "Lord Verminaard has made no secret of his plans to invade Qualinesti. He waits only to gather his forces and secure his supply routes. We cannot hope to stand before such a horde."

Despite having seen the formidable defences of Qualinesti for himself, Raistlin had to agree. After Gilthanas' tale of the red dragons destroying Solace, he could well believe they could level this place.

Sturm clearly did not have the sense to come to that conclusion and had to have it explained patiently by the Speaker, who wasn't at all comforted by the reminder. "It was only with the Dragonlance that the mighty Huma defeated them. There are none now -at least that we know of- who remember the secret of that great weapon."

Next to him, Fizban started forward to speak, but the young mage held him back. He doubted the enigmatic old mage had anything sensible to say, and would most likely just use the excuse to act -and Raistlin was sure it _was_ an act- insane.

The Speaker continued; the elves were planning to abandon Qualinesti and go into exile, but they had lately heard of a nearby dragonarmy that would attack them before they were ready. The army was in Pax Tharkas, and it had been Gilthanas' plan to infiltrate the place and lead the slaves who worked the mines there in a revolt.

Raistlin sighed, and he wasn't the only one to have caught what the Speaker truly meant. Tanis spoke up, "And you mean for us to lead the revolt."

"Yes, Tanthalas. Gilthanas knows a way into Pax Tharkas -the Sla-Mori. He can lead you into the fortress. You have not only a chance to free your own kind, but you offer the elves a chance to escape." The Speaker scowled at Dalamar, who glowered back insolently. "I have been torn as to whether you should accompany them, Dark elf, and I still believe it would be best for the others to head off without you."

Oh Gods, not again.

"You would be heading without the two of us, then." Raistlin stepped forward, one hand of Dalamar's shoulder. The former Silvanesti gave him a small smile, an odd look in his eyes.

Tanis sent the Speaker a pleading look, and the Red Robe had a feeling they had disagreed about this before. But before Caramon could step forward to offer his support, the elven ruler nodded reluctantly. "Very well, so be it. But understand this, exile, understand that if you betray us, we will never stop hunting you. You will never know a moment's safety or a moment's rest until you are dead."

Raistlin's grip on Dalamar's shoulder tightened painfully and his eyes narrowed, boring into the Speaker's. He saw a spasm cross the other elf's face at the sheer baleful anger directed at him.

"We must have time to consider," Tanis broke in.

The elder elf nodded stiffly, and they were led to a small grove away from the crowd. The half-elf turned to them, sighing, "I will go Pax Tharkas, but I believe that it is time we separate, my friends. Before you speak, let me say this: I would send Tika, Goldmoon, Riverwind, Caramon, Dalamar, and Raistlin -yes, and you, Fizban-, with the elves in the hope that you may carry the Disks to safety. They're too precious to risk in a raid on Pax Tharkas."

Tanis hadn't even finished speaking before Raistlin shook his head. By what he had seen in the people of Qualinesti, he could have told Half-elven he was wrong; however, it was not this that prompted him to speak, but the soft whispers, quieter yet clearer than at any other time save Xak Tsaroth. It was enough to reinforce the young mage's certainty that to carry the Disks with the elves was to do nothing, and worse than nothing: To jeopardise their hopes, even if he didn't know how yet. He said none of this to the half-elf though, simply stating that it would not be amongst the elves that Goldmoon would find whom she sought.

Half-elven blinked. "How do you know?"

Sturm snorted; clearly, the idea of putting up with the two mages again was more that he could stand in silence. "He doesn't know anything, Tanis, More talk-"

But for once, the half-elf seemed ready to listen to sense. "Raistlin?"

"You heard the knight," Dalamar sneered. "We know nothing."

The Solamnic looked at them with loathing, and Raistlin wondered how long this uneasy truce would last. He had not forgotten the knight's words in Xak Tsaroth, when he had screamed that they should have left both of them for the dragon. Nor did he suspect Sturm had forgotten Dalamar's cold promise at the slave caravan, to leave them to their fate and save only Raistlin and himself. Perhaps splitting up would be a good idea, before one of them snapped.

And if the moustached idiot didn't stop glaring, that person might well be Raistlin.

One by one, the others pledged to follow Tanis, Goldmoon agreeing with Raistlin that the one she sought would not be among the elves. Dalamar said nothing, just stepping closer to Raistlin and resting a hand on his shoulder- _Where you go, I go._

Half-elven sighed, admitted defeat, then turned to Fizban, ordering him to go back with the elves.

Raistlin had been expecting a reaction, but nothing quite as dramatic as what happened. The old magician looked directly at Tanis- not simply somewhere over his left ear, as he was wont to do- but straight in the Half-elf's face. His expression was one of such focus -such power!- that even Dalamar took a step back. The Dark elf shot Raistlin a look, and he nodded almost imperceptibly. Dalamar inclined his head in response, and Raistlin smiled. His lover had seen it too.

The look on the old man's face was reminiscent of no one so much of Fistandantilus, and Raistlin had actually suspected there might be a connection to begin with. He had later discarded the thought. The old wizard was not connected to the old lich, but the power surrounding him was much the same -perhaps even greater. It was enough to make more than a little impression on young mage, even without taking into account the elder's knowledge of his Test.

Tanis looked dazed, this wasn't the response he had been expecting. Instead of arguing with the old man, he turned to Raistlin. Clearly, even Half-elven could see there was something strange about the newcomer.

He was mildly surprised when the half-elf spoke to him in Camp-talk, the gutter cant of mercenaries, but then nodded to himself. Half-elven didn't want Fizban to understand what he was saying, and while he honestly didn't think it would do much good, it wouldn't hurt to help Half-elven's delusions.

"_We talk if want_," Raistlin answered. 'But not too much', he thought. 'There's much I want to find out about this old man, without your bumbling'. "_But little know I_."

"_You fear, why?_"

For obvious reasons. "_I know not, Tanis_," he lied. "_But -you right. There power be within Old One. I feel great power_."

"_And you hunger_," Dalamar had leant close and whispered in Raistlin's ear softly enough for no one else to hear. Raistlin shivered, but smiled and nodded slightly. If he could learn that power from the old man... it would be more than worth putting up with him.

The younger human wizard smiled coldly at Tanis. "_But, he right. Try to stop him? Very much danger_."

"As if there wasn't enough already," Tanis said bitterly. "We take our own in with us in the form of a doddering old magician."

Sturm's eyes narrowed. "It's not the old man I'm worried about," he said darkly.

Raistlin locked eyes with the knight and felt the cold chill of dread climb his spine. Yes, he had been right to know the truce couldn't last. This one would kill them if he had half an excuse, and to go into an enemy fortress with such at his back was not a comforting thought. He simply hoped the Solamnic wouldn't get it into his head to attack them during the operation.

The Dark elf's hand closed around his lover's upper arm, and the two stepped back into the shadows. "Come now," he said softly. "Let's go to bed."

They turned away, hearing the faint strains of Flint's "As if two crazed mages wasn't bad enough!" as they headed away.

Raistlin turned to Dalamar, puzzled, as they walked. They had slept soundly earlier, and he didn't feel particularly sleepy. "Are you tired?" he asked curiously. Had the events of the last few hours taken more out of his lover than expected?

The Dark elf paused, and smiled. "No, are you?"

Raistlin shook his head, then understood what Dalamar meant and smiled. "Oh."

"Yes, 'oh'." The Dark elf stepped closer, close enough for his robes to brush against Raistlin's and for the younger mage to see the undeniable hunger in his lover's eyes.

Raistlin stepped in until he was pressed up against his lover, feeling the warmth of Dalamar's body against his own and sliding his hands under the Dark elf's robes to draw him closer still. The Dark elf made a sound close to a purr, rubbing his face against Raistlin's white locks as he reached over to hold him in turn. Raistlin's hands dropped and he stroke one finger along the back of the Dark elf's leg, feeling him shiver appreciatively. The Dark elf responded by sliding his arms around him- one around his shoulders, the other on his waist, and pulling them closer still until Raistlin could feel the elf'sn erection grinding against his own.

Raistlin smiled, nuzzling the crook of the Dark elf's neck. It had been far, far too long since they'd been together like this. He decided that, next time, they wouldn't let something as petty as company get in the way of taking pleasure in each other.

He was just leaning for a warm and very welcome kiss, when the angry voices reached them. By the sounds of it, Tanis and the others were arguing.

"No! I don't believe it!" Half-elven's voice cut through the night sharply. "You two are wrong! I'll stake my life on it. I grew up with Gilthanas, I know him! Yes, there is a score to settle between us, but we've discussed it and the matter is closed. I'll believe he's turned traitor to his people the day I believe you or Caramon turn traitor. And no, I don't know the way to Pax Tharkas. I've never been there. And one more thing! If there's a person I don't trust in this group it's that old man, not to mention that brother of yours and his dark elf!"

Dalamar blinked at Raistlin, who blinked back. They were both still wound in each other's arms, hands warm against skin.

"Well," the Dark elf said, and shook his head as if unsure what to say.

Raistlin winced. He had expected there would be whispers of traitors, but he hadn't expected them to come so soon, or that Gilthanas would be implicated. In truth though, that was probably a good thing. He had known their names would be thrown in at some point -he doubted that even Caramon trusted him completely anymore-, and if the elf was also distrusted, it might draw attention away from them. Not that he expected Gilthanas to actually be a traitor-

Raistlin's thoughts died away as Dalamar pressed his lips against his own, tongue sliding in past his teeth. The younger mage groaned deep in his throat and reached up to cup the Dark elf's face as his mouth was utterly and quite deliciously ravaged.

By the time Raistlin forced to break the embrace in order to breathe, he was pressed tightly against his lover, one leg hooked around the Dark elf's, and Half-elven's argument was the furthest thing from his mind. Dalamar grinned at him hungrily, licking swollen lips. "Come on."

* * *

By the time they had made their way back to the grove where they had spent the afternoon, sleep was the last thing Raistlin was expecting. They had stopped several times on the way back to kiss, grope, and pull hungrily at each other's clothing. He didn't think they could reach the grove quickly enough.

Unfortunately, they weren't as alone as they had hoped. Although none of the others had arrived yet, the young wizard found himself held still suddenly by Dalamar.

It took a few moment for his eyes to spot what the Dark elf's keener ones had seen, a small group of elves on the edge of the clearing. Raistlin caught sight of the leader, and his heart sank. It was the very same Senator that had spoken up in the Speaker's chamber and that had sent them ugly looks all through the feast.

Somehow, he didn't think the Qualinesti was here to apologise.

The elf -Rashas- stepped forward, sneering at the sight of them. "Solostaran is a doddering old fool to allow the likes of you to sleep and-" He wrinkled his nose at their dishevelled state- "_befoul_ our sacred groves. I however am neither foolish nor old. You will stay out of this place, or my guards will be forced to keep you out." He turned to leave.

"And where are we supposed to sleep?" Dalamar snarled after him.

Rashas turned, an ugly look on his thin face. "Why, on the ground, like a dog," he spat before turning again and walking away.

Dalamar looked back at the elves that remained and sighed, and Raistlin knew the Dark elf was wishing, once again, that they had left this place, or better still, never entered. He looked back to where the arrogant elf had vanished and clenched his fists. It was pointless to expect any help from any quarter, and they could hardly fight the guards Rashas had left -as he well knew. His lover was detested here and Raistlin himself- after Dalamar's possessive proclamation in the middle of the Speaker's chamber- would hardly be welcome either. Rashas would not have the support of the Speaker, as he was acting against his wishes, but unlike them, he didn't need it.

All that was left then was to find somewhere to sleep...

He had had enough. Through the whole day he had been forced to watch Dalamar be cursed, derided and physically hurt, all the while knowing that any action he took would simply make things worse. This was the last straw.

A small smile suddenly twitched Dalamar's lips. Raistlin stared, cocking his head as the cold grin broadened. Quietly, the Dark elf took Raistlin's hand and pulled him away from the grove, and as soon as they were out of sight of the elves, he confided his plan, whispering so that the guards might not hear.

The younger mage's frustrated face lightened into a slow, evil smile. "Oh, yes, but wouldn't they-"

The Dark elf shook his head. "They need us, and you know this Rashas is acting against the Speaker's orders. He can no more go to him than we can."

Raistlin's grin was truly wicked. "All we need to do," he whispered, "is to work out where he lives."

Dalamar tapped the side of his face thoughtfully. "As to that, I have an idea. We weren't the only ones that arrogant lordling was scowling at during the feast."

* * *

They found Tanis as the Half-elf was walking back to the grove. Caramon and the others must have hung back or taken a different route, because he was alone.

Tanis sighed and rolled his eyes at the sight of them. "What do _you_ want?"

Dalamar's face was steeled impassivity. "You lived here before, am I correct?" the Half-elf nodded warily, clearly wondering what they were up to. "So you must know where _Senator _Rashas lives?"

This time Half-elven blinked, surprised by the odd question. "Why do you-"

Raistlin waved a hand to cut him off. "Never mind that, where does he live?"

Tanis was silent for a moment, and Raistlin could almost see him thinking. He had to know the two of them certainly didn't mean any good, but as Dalamar had guessed, the Half-elf had suffered from Rashas' attention before, and he shrugged, as if to rid himself of any involvement in the plot. "It's the last house at the end of the row."

The Dark elf smiled evilly and gave a small bow. Raistlin did the same, and the two hurried down the path.

Raistlin saw Tanis look back, sigh, shrug again, and continue on his way. He wasn't sure, but he thought he might have seen a smile on Half-elven's face.

* * *

Two hours later, the elven guards escorting the two mages almost threw them into the grove where the others were sleeping. Raistlin shivered, the night air was chill against his bare skin and the guards of the outraged Senator hadn't allowed them to even put their robes on before throwing them out.

It was with a welcome sigh that he slid into one of the empty beds, Dalamar getting in beside him. The Dark elf was still sniggering shamelessly, but Raistlin had stopped finding it funny after they had been marched, mostly naked, through the trees. He was glad he had drunk his tea during the feast and still had some left to ease the tightness around his chest.

It hadn't been too bad before, with his lover's burning body close against his; atop, around, and inside him. He doubted he'd have noticed if Fistandantilus himself decided to take possession of his body at that moment, but he had certainly noticed the cold after Dalamar had been pulled off him.

Raistlin sipped the tea; even cold, it helped dispel the crushing band around his lungs that warned of an impending coughing fit. His chest had been getting tight even before the guards had dragged the two of them off Rashas' front lawn, and the long march back had certainly not helped.

It had been worth it though, the young mage decided, as he set the now empty cup aside and burrowed down under the covers beside the now sleeping Dark elf. The look on Senator Rashas' face had been worth a dozen coughing fits, as had been hearing the words he shouted from his bedroom window. Raistlin hadn't known the Senator knew gutter cant.

A grin pulled at his lips at the memory of Rashas' face, part sickened, part horrified, all outraged. Still, it had been the Senator's own fault.

After all, Rashas had never actually said _where _they had been meant to sleep...

_Yes, a shorter chapter. The NC-17 version will be up at shortly on my account._

_Skull Bearer_


	17. Of Silence

_Dracoqueen22: Thanks! It's great to know you like this as much as I'm liking writing it._

_Tsukiyo no Yume: Rashas is a xenophobic, close minding arse who totally deserved having Raistlin and Dalamar making out on his front lawn (although I wouldn't be too opposed to that myself...)_

_Dalamar Nightson: Palin?... Okay. Since I haven't read past Dragons of Summer Flame... I like Palin so far anyway._

_Dagmar the Dark: Cheers!_

_Myar: I liked your art, if you put up any more Raistlin/Dalamar please tell me! (drools)_

**Crepuscule**

Chapter seventeen - Of Silence

_But through it all I still get lost without you  
Hard to find a new soul,  
The silence takes it's toll.  
- Lost Prophets, Sway_

The storm clouds from the north had almost reached Qualinesti by morning, and Raistlin hardly needed the whispers to know that they could not afford to waste time here. Dalamar had clearly come to the same conclusion; the Dark elf was shooting looks at the strange clouds as they packed their meagre belongings.

Absently, the human wizard checked his pouch of spell components and had an unpleasant shock in finding it empty. By the look on his lover's face, the elf had also run out. Raistlin sighed, that was all they needed. Still, they should have enough time on the road to find the components. The elves had offered them all supplies, but unfortunately, they were either unable or unwilling to give them the components needed, so other than a few days' worth of quith-pa, the elven trail rations, the two mages had refused. They had what they needed and Raistlin for one hardly needed any extra weight.

The sun was just rising, its light thin and almost insubstantial behind the clouds, when Gilthanas led them out of Qualinesti. Both mages had been pleasantly amused to see that Rashas had not been one of those who came to see them off; probably, the lordling was still locked inside his house, brooding over the humiliation. Raistlin carefully avoided looking at Dalamar; it was hard enough to keep a straight face as it was. His back ached a little from their rather energetic night, and he still felt rather stiff even though Dalamar had been very careful. It was just as well he had been, or else Raistlin would have found it rather hard to walk. Dalamar slid an arm around his waist, and Raistlin leant against him, smiling. They really had needed that.

They started off, heading south towards the old fortress of Pax Tharkas. The going was easy; a party of warriors had gone on ahead and were clearing the thick undergrowth as they went Raistlin looked over at the group. He and Dalamar had lagged back, letting the others go up ahead. Seeing that everyone was occupied and deciding that their absence would not be missed, he nodded towards the undergrowth.

Dalamar smiled. "Good idea."

The spell components were not hard to find. After five years wandering, they had become adept at finding what they needed for their spells. Some webbing from a tattered spider web, scraps of fur torn off in briars, and few leaves for Raistlin's tea. After sometimes having to spend hours trying to find the elusive components, it was relievingly easy to find what they needed on the outskirts of the elven wood, and before long, the two of them were heading back to the trail.

It seemed to be too much to hope, however, for their absence to have gone unnoticed. Raistlin had hoped that no one would realise they had left the path -after the argument they had overheard, it would hardly be a good idea to advertise- but clearly they had.

"Where are those two?" Gilthanas' voice was harsh.

"Maybe something's happened..." That was Caramon, faithful as always.

"Nonsense! What could have happened to them? There is no enemy for miles. They must have gone off somewhere, for some purpose." Gilthanas' voice was dark, making it blatantly obvious what he was suggesting.

"What are you saying?"

Sturm spoke up, ready to clarify for Raistlin's thick-skulled brother, "Maybe they left to-"

"-To collect what we need for the making of our magic, knight," the younger mage finished, stepping out of the trees as he did so. "And to replenish the herbs I need to heal my cough."

"Raist!" Caramon stepped forward, making as if to hug his brother. When the younger Majere took two steps back and raised his staff as if for protection, Caramon remembered himself and stopped. "You shouldn't go off by yourself, it's dangerous."

Raistlin lifted an eyebrow. "He wasn't by himself," Dalamar put in lazily.

"Besides," the human wizard finished, "my spell components are secret."

Dalamar stepped around the little group and walked over to rejoin Fizban in the line. Raistlin made to do the same, but stopped when his brother's hand closed on his arm.

"You went with _him_." Caramon looked hurt, jerking his head towards the Dark elf.

"Yes, I did." Raistlin pried his brother's hand off. "And _never_ touch me again."

Turning his back on his twin, he followed Dalamar.

* * *

The path became steeper as they went, heading down to join a large stream as they headed further south. It was when they broke for lunch that Fizban confided that he had seen someone following them. Raistlin hadn't seen anyone, and Dalamar shook his head to show that he hadn't noticed anything either, but they both knew better than to dismiss the old magician's words out of hand, as Gilthanas did.

The sun was starting to slant down now, a warning of the shortening of the days, and after eating, they packed up and set off again, upon Gilthanas' insistence that they had to be at the Sla-Mori by sundown. It was not much further on that they came to a clearing. Tanis hissed a warning and they all ducked back, peering out at what had caught the Half-elf's attention.

A vicious battle had clearly been recently fought in the clearing, and its bloody remnants still littered the area. Men and hobgoblins were lying broken all over the ground.

Despite the devastation, there seemed to be no threat, and the group moved out one by one from the tree line.

"No enemy for miles!" Sturm snorted, scowling at Gilthanas.

It was Tanis who caught sight of the survivor, a human warrior. He was covered in blood, but didn't appear badly hurt. The mages watched from a distance as the others gathered round to examine the man. The Solamnic questioned him as to his part in the recent battle, the man swearing he had been fighting the hobgoblins. He appeared to know the Qualinesti prince, but before anything else could be said, a dozen draconians appeared at the edge of the clearing. They didn't seem to recognise the group, but simply ordered them to come with them for questioning.

Raistlin and Dalamar exchanged glances. These were not the strange, wingless breed that had overcome them on the road to Xak Tsaroth, but rather the smaller fighting race. This was a fight they could win.

"We do not take orders from Lord Verminaard!" Tanis declared, drawing his blade.

"You will, soon enough," the draconian sneered, then motioned its warriors to attack.

Fizban, standing beside them, pulled out a lump of bat guano and started mumbling a spell. The Dark elf groaned and the two younger wizards held the older one back. "Not fireball! You'll incinerate everyone out there!"

"Oh, really?" The old man's face was a mask of innocence that Raistlin bought not at all. "Wait -I'll think of something else."

The Red Robe sighed. As powerful as the old magician was, he sincerely doubted the man would use those powers for anything helpful. The two dragged Fizban down and told him to stay put before entering the fray themselves.

At first, they simply circled the battle, pulling away from any who might attack them, casting spells at any near them. Finally, three draconians, who had had enough of being blasted with spells, drew away from the battle and charged at them.

Which was exactly what Raistlin and Dalamar wanted. The younger mage whispered /"Shirak,"/ and thrust the lit staff into the draconians faces, dazzling them. Then it was simple work to stand back and cast.

The Red Robe smiled, delighting in the lightning crackle of the magic as it flowed through him, arcing from his fingertips to hammer down the draconians. It was the most wonderful ecstasy, powerful as anything he and Dalamar had shared. Beside him, the Dark elf was laughing as one of their foes dropped to the ground, the stone statue cracking into pieces as it fell.

It took a few moments to realise that the battle was over, their attackers lying on the floor in pieces. No one seemed to have been hurt, although Tika seemed to have gone berserk and nearly broken her shield.

Raistlin lifted one hand, staring as the residual magic crackled around his fingertips. He turned and looked at Dalamar, who smiled back wolfishly before kissing him violently. It was often like this, the blur of magic and adrenaline giving way to desire. It wouldn't be long before the hollow exhaustion set in, but Raistlin was quite willing to make the best of what time they had, kissing back fervently before drawing away, breathing heavily. This was not the time for this, and Raistlin tore his eyes away from his lover, looking back over the clearing, now the scene of two battles.

Apparently he wasn't the only one experiencing the after-effects of battle-lust. Caramon looked about ready to sweep Tika off her feet and into the trees. The younger Majere was about to roll his eyes and leave them to it when the big man's eyes fell on him. The warrior blinked, as if coming to his senses, and stepped back from the young woman. The bone numbing tiredness came across him then, and Raistlin sighed, lowering the staff of Magius as if he could no longer hold its weight. His brother stepped forward to help him, but the young mage waved him off. The last thing he needed was his twin.

He sighed again, rubbing his eyes, and together he and Dalamar walked over to where Sturm, Tanis, and Gilthanas were interrogating the newcomer -Eben, the elf named him.

"No, I'm fine, I just felt a little faint when I saw those creatures, that's all. You really have a cleric among you? That's wonderful, but don't waste her healing powers on me. Just a scratch. It's more their blood than mine. My party and I were tracking these draconians through the wood when we were attacked by at least forty hobgoblins."

Gilthanas' eyes were narrowed in suspicion. "And you alone lived to tell the tale?"

Raistlin looked at Dalamar. "What do you think?"

The Dark elf looked thoughtful. "I think he could be on either side, or, more likely, neither. You noticed that he didn't fight the draconians with us, it just be that he decided to hold back and pledge himself to whoever won." Dalamar shrugged. "Smart move."

The red-robed wizard looked at the bodies of the twelve draconians and nodded. Such an action was hardly cowardice. But, friend or foe, he heartily disagreed with the idea of taking the man with them. A good swordsman he may be, but the plan would be difficult enough without taking in strays. There was no point in speaking up though, and Raistlin just shrugged and followed the others as they set off again.

As they went, Raistlin caught Eben looking straight at Dalamar, an inscrutable expression on his face.

* * *

The sun was setting by the time they came into view of the huge fortress of Pax Tharkas. The two massive towers they could see competed with the mountains for mastery of the skyline, and the rest of the place must be bigger still. Raistlin had travelled extensively, Dalamar even more, but they were both still impressed with the size and grandeur of the fortress.

However, as awe-inspiring as the fortress was, what came marching through its gates was more horrifying than anything. An army, endless ranks of draconians, goblins and hobgoblins, accompanied by human mercenaries, marched out onto the plains while the harsh horns of war brayed from the battlements.

The Red Robe spared these barely a glance, his attention drawn to the creature circling above like a terrible red hawk: A dragon, and even from where they stood, the wizard could see it was much, much larger than the one they had fought in Xak Tsaroth. Even at such a distance, the dragonfear sent shudders up Raistlin's spine.

"They march on Qualinesti," Gilthanas said in a broken whisper. "We must get inside and free the prisoners, then Verminaard will be forced to call his army back."

"You're going inside Pax Tharkas!" Eben exclaimed.

The Qualinesti prince closed his eyes. "Yes," he admitted.

"Whew! You people have guts, I tell you that. So -how do we get in there? Wait until the army leaves? There will probably be only a few guards at the front gate. We could handle them easily, couldn't we, big man?" Eben nudged Caramon, who grinned.

"That is not the plan," the elflord said coldly, pointing at a narrow vale leading into the mountains. "That is our way. We will cross under cover of darkness."

They were walking, still under the trees, when they caught sight of someone within the undergrowth. Dalamar was the first one to do so, and pointed it out to Raistlin. Fizban also saw it and told anyone who would listen.

It was true then, Raistlin thought grimly. They were being followed.

* * *

It was very late when they crossed the plain and headed into the vale. The sun had set long ago, but the moons had not yet broken the crest of the mountains. None of them dared light torches, and the darkness made the going treacherous. Luckily, a stream cut across their path -not so luckily for Flint, who fell in and had to be fished out by Caramon- and helped guide them into the mountains.

They had only gone a short way, however, before Gilthanas left the group and disappeared into the forest, something that provoked all kind of suspicions, particularly from Eben, who recalled that the elflord had been acting suspiciously even when they had travelled together. Again, Raistlin noticed that the human was shooting strange glances at Dalamar whenever he thought the Dark elf wasn't looking. The Qualinesti wasn't long gone, however, and came back with the tale that he had been scouting ahead and the way was clear.

"I say we go in by the front gate," the swordman replied.

"I agree," Caramon put in.

The two mages said nothing. He didn't trust either Eben or Gilthanas, but Raistlin for one was certainly sure that trying to assault the main gate -particularly in broad daylight as Sturm was suggesting- was nothing short of suicidal.

Dalamar snorted, "Go and bang on the door if you want Brightblade, I'm sure Verminaard will be very helpful and we would be rid of your company."

The knight wheeled around. "And I would be equally glad to be rid of yours, Dark elf. Of all those here, you are the one I trust least! Keep your lying tongue behind your teeth and I might not remove it." Turning, the Solamnic stomped along after Gilthanas and Tanis.

Raistlin watched them leave. "Dalamar-"

The Dark elf shook his head. "Don't. There may be a traitor among us, but Brightblade is the only one here who would actively have us dead."

"And now would not be the time to have such a confrontation!" the younger wizard hissed. "They-" He indicated the group "-are looking for a scapegoat they can brand traitor. The last thing we need is the knight declaring us the betrayers!"

The Dark elf sighed and shook his head in silent disagreement, but said no more as they walked over to where the prince had stopped.

The Qualinesti had removed a small gem from his pocket and set it into the rock face, then stepped back and started tracing symbols in the air, murmuring words that were familiar to the Red Robe.

Raistlin nodded. "A spell of opening."

Fizban watched. "I didn't know he was one of us."

Dalamar sneered, "No more than a dabbler."

Dabbler or not, the spell worked well and a huge block of stone swung aside, revealing a gaping black hole like a toothless crone's mouth.

The young mage shivered and pulled his cloak closer as a blast of chill, dank air passed over them, making him want to cough. The feeling of dread coming from the tunnel was harder to dispel though.

"What's in there?" Caramon wanted to know.

"I do not know what is in there now, I have never entered," Gilthanas answered. "I know only of this place through the lore of my people."

Caramon snorted, "All right, what _used_ to be in there?"

"This was the burial place of Kith-Kanan."

Dalamar groaned and Raistlin looked at him sympathetically. The Dark elf was no doubt growing to _really_ hate places of dead, particularly the restless kind.

"More spooks," Flint grouched. "Send the mages in first, they can warn them that we're coming."

"Send the dwarf in first," Dalamar snapped back. "And let him bore them to oblivion."

Tanis broke in before the argument could escalate and turned to the two mages. "All right, what do you two sense about this place."

"Evil. Great evil," Raistlin said.

"And great danger," Dalamar agreed.

"But also great goodness too," Fizban put it unexpectedly. "The elves are not truly forgotten within though evil things have come to rule in their stead."

The Dark elf snorted, clearly remembering the 'great goodness' of Darken Wood. "As I said," he hissed to Raistlin, "great danger."

Behind them, Eben was listening intently, before again demanding that they go around to the front of the fortress. It was only Tanis' intervention that got them all inside the cave and settled in for the night. Raistlin investigated the back of the cave. There was mostly dust and few footprints, and a crossroads further on. The atmosphere shrouding the right-hand path had him shuddering and woke the whispers again. Shrugging off the sensation and the soft warnings, he walked back to where the others were making camp. Tanis had left the stone door slightly open to lay a trap for whoever was following them.

The Red Robe looked around for Dalamar, and found the Dark elf talking -of all people- to Eben. When he saw Raistlin, he gave him a rather strained smile. "I think it might be best if you got ready to sleep, Raistlin. I may be up a while."

The human wizard felt momentarily thrown, and glared at the warrior suspiciously, remembering the odd looks the man had been throwing at Dalamar. "Why?"

The Dark elf's expression was unreadable. "You're tired, and I need to talk to Eben."

Raistlin cocked his head. What was going on? "Without me?"

The dark-robed mage reached up to rub his face. "Please. I'll join you later."

The human wizard hesitated, then walked away, sitting against the side of the cavern. He had no idea what could have possessed Dalamar to act this way; it was unlike them to keep secrets from each other. Except for his own secret, Raistlin reminded himself, remembering the argument they had in the slave caravans. After such, how could he expect Dalamar to share everything?

He had a feeling that if he told Dalamar, that the Dark elf would explain what he was doing. It was the principle of the thing, his lover keeping his secrets because Raistlin kept his. If he wanted answers, he would have to offer them first. However, why did it have to be him to make the first move? The thought whispered into his mind. Why shouldn't Dalamar offer his information first? If the Dark elf could demonstrate that he trusted Raistlin that far, then maybe he would tell him the truth about his Test. Besides, it was hardly the right time, the thought reasoned. They were surrounded by people who would be hardly sympathetic or accepting upon hearing about Fistandantilus and the rest.

Decided, Raistlin unpacked the bedroll they shared and spread it out on the most even patch of floor he could find.

Sleep came quickly, and Raistlin never realised that the thought that had warned him away from telling Dalamar had sounded so very much like the voice of his whispers.

* * *

Dalamar had not joined Raistlin in the bedroll that night. Instead, the human mage found his lover slumped against the wall next to him. It looked as though sleep had caught the Dark elf in mid thought. Whatever Eben had to tell him, it must have been disturbing.

Trying to shove the unwelcome thoughts out of his mind, the Red Robe sat up. He had slept in his robes again, which was just as well. He had forgotten just how cold it was when you slept alone. "Dalamar?" The young mage reach over and shook the Dark elf's shoulder. The latter jerked awake and blinked around the room, disoriented.

"It must have been an interesting conversation," Raistlin remarked, not quite succeeding in keeping the bitter note out of his voice, "to have kept you up so late."

Dalamar sighed and rubbed his eyes. "It was." There was no mistaking the emotion and honesty in those words. "He and I... we had a lot to talk about."

"What about?" the young wizard probed.

Dalamar shrugged. "He had never met a Dark elf before." He turned to go.

Raistlin reached to stop him. "What kind of answer is that?"

The Dark elf's eyes narrowed. "I'd have thought you would be all too familiar with what kind of answer it was," he answered coldly before getting up.

The Red Robe sighed. So he had been right, Dalamar would not tell him unless he got the answers he sought. It seemed more than a little high handed, he thought, for the Dark elf to demand trust when he himself not only showed none, but also admitted to being unable to trust at all!

Kicking off the blankets, Raistlin got up, gathering his cup and herbs before heading for the small fire Flint had made the night before. The tension was still between them when the group broke camp and made their way down the passage Raistlin had investigated last night. The chill in the air had nothing to do with the temperature, but the Red Robe pulled his cloak close anyway, trying to ignore the whispers that sprang up if he even looked at the right-hand path. He couldn't quite make out what they were saying, but the aura of threat was unmistakable.

Finally and much to his relief, they decided to go left, down a dusty, broken tunnel. The going was harder now; bits of debris covered the ground, no doubt knocked loose during the Cataclysm. Twice Raistlin stumbled and once nearly fell, but Dalamar caught him. The young mage looked at the Dark elf. His lover's hand was on his arm, skin warm against his own. Their eyes met, and Dalamar let go. Neither spoke, but the silence was heavy with their words. Raistlin turned away first and walked on. Behind him, he heard Dalamar sigh, then follow.

Several hundred feet on, the left had wall had been rent apart, the debris partially blocking the passageway. The Red Robe stepped through the hole, his lit staff held before him, and held it up to light up the room. The Dark elf and the others clambered through after him.

The hall must once have been one of the finest in Ansalon, but was now so damaged that the tattered remnants of beauty seemed almost a mockery of what the place once stood for. Two rows of seven columns supported the roof, though some had been broken, and at the back, the ceiling had fallen in entirely. Beside this ruin stood a tarnished bronze double door. Caramon suddenly cried out and Raistlin spun around staff pointed to find whatever was attacking them.

There were no attackers; rather, the sight of a skeleton had surprised Caramon. The remains sat on a massive throne, flanked by two statues. The robes and finery, though tarnished, showed that this had been a person of great importance, and the sword the bony hands rested on was one of the most ornate Raistlin had ever seen. The bones were strange, even while crumbling in Raistlin's eyes, they were too slender to be human bones, too fluted and delicate.

Behind him, Dalamar took a step back. "Kith-Kanan!" he breathed.

Gilthanas had fallen to his knees and nodded. "We stand in the Hall of Ancients, his burial tomb. None had seen this sight since the elven clerics vanished in the Cataclysm."

Raistlin turned back. Tanis had joined Gilthanas on the floor, but Dalamar hadn't moved. The Dark elf was staring at the skeleton with a rather shaken expression. Then he shook his head and smiled shakily. "A lot of old bones," Raistlin heard him mutter to himself.

The young mage's attention was drawn to Kith-Kanan's sword more than his remains, and he wasn't the only one. Tanis had had to warn Tasslehoff away from touching the beautiful blade. Raistlin walked forward, being careful not to touch the throne, the skeleton, or the statues. After the latest string of events, he wasn't taking any chances.

Luckily, he wouldn't need to touch the sword to cast the spell. _"Tsaran korilath ith hakon."_

Raistlin wished he had the foresight to memorise a spell of identification; the one he had was one he had hoped to use to find magical traps. It would tell if there was magic in the area, but not what it did.

Unsurprisingly, the sword started to glow; oddly enough, it was the only thing that did, although Raistlin wondered if he had imagined the thin red glow in the skull's eye sockets. "It is enchanted."

The kender came over for a closer look. "Good enchantment? Or bad?"

The Red Robe shrugged. "I have no way of knowing, but since it had lain undisturbed for so long _I _would certainly not venture to touch it!"

He stepped back from the throne, and he and Dalamar walked over to where the others were examining the walls. Gilthanas called them over, one of the bronze doors had a map on it- although, Raistlin thought, remembering Xak Tsaroth exactly how useful it would be after so long was debatable. The map was faded, scratched from fallen masonry and encrusted with dirt so that it was hard to make head or tail of it.

He was so intent of the door that he jumped when the Dark elf touched his shoulder. "Listen."

Raistlin felt rather annoyed at the interruption. "What for?"

"Shh!"

A strange sound reached their ears, a soft scraping, shuffling sound. Suddenly a blast of foul smelling air came from the half-open door. Raistlin reeled and started coughing. "Shut the door!" he wheezed, stumbling back.

Caramon and Sturm made a run for the doors, but before they could reach them, they flew open.

The Red Robe had expected guards, draconians, perhaps even undead, but what actually came out was so malformed, twisted, and hideous that it was almost a relief when it withered and crumpled in his sight.

"A slug!" Tasslehoff exclaimed. "But look at the size of that thing! How do you suppose it got so big? I wonder what it eats-"

Flint lunged forward and hauled the kender out of the way of the stream of foul liquid the slug spat at him. The saliva struck the ground and the stones seemed almost to melt when touched by it. Raistlin was forcibly reminded of the black dragon of Xak Tsaroth.

He was just reaching for his spell components to cast when Dalamar caught hold of his shoulder and pulled him back away from the fight, hands closing on the younger mage's wrists to prevent him from casting. "What are you doing?" he demanded, staring at the Dark elf.

Dalamar paused momentarily, letting go of him. His lover looked shaken and uncertain, he seemed about to speak, then shook his head as if making his mind up about something. He nodded at his lover, then lifted his hands to start casting. Raistlin sighed in relief. He had a shrewd suspicion about what had just happened, but at the moment, they had rather more pressing problems.

Dalamar's spell, that from the Sentinel Peaks, shot at the slug, neatly severing its eyestalks. The monster reared back, only to catch the Red Robe's blast of flame in its rubbery mouth. The creature's skin boiled and bubbled under the heat, splitting to let fall more of the foul acidic liquid. The warriors waded in, Sturm's enchanted blade bit in, but Caramon's blows just bounced off the tough hide. Tanis lunged forwards, sword outstretched as the monster reared back, aiming at the creature's seared mouth.

"Tanthalas!"

Surprised, Tanis spun around. "Laurana!"

Raistlin looked round. The elfmaiden was standing at the other end of the hall, looking horrified. At the same time, he spotted one person who had not joined the attack: Eben was standing in a corner, well out of the way. The mage smiled to himself grimly, his suspicions confirmed. So, the human was not only taking no part in the fray, but he had no doubt suggested that Dalamar do the same.

At a shout from Flint, Tanis tore his eyes off Laurana and hefted his sword, but too late. The slug, blinded and maddened with pain, had reared up and spat a line of acid at him. The half-elf's sword liquefied in his hands, the acid dripping down to scorch his flesh. Tanis cried out and Goldmoon ran over to heal him.

Seeing the monster rear up and no doubt sensing an opportunity, the Dark elf cast again, the bolt of magic punching through the slug's dripping maw and out through its back. Grievously wounded, the creature slithered back, to be hit in unison by Raistlin's spell. Oozing clear liquid from its many wounds, the slug keeled over and struck the doors. The hinges screamed like nails on a chalkboard as its weight struck them and the doors closed with a deafening bang. The creature slid down them to rest on the ground, quite dead but now completely blocking the doors with its stinking carcass and dripping acid.

The stench made Raistlin choke and he opened the pouch he kept his herbs in, hoping that the scent would banish the tightness around his chest. The silence after the din of the battle was deafening. Raistlin saw Eben emerge from behind one of the pillars and make to stand next to Dalamar, but the Dark elf stepped away from the human and walked to his lover's side. The young mage caught the Dark elf's eyes and gave a thin smile, taking his hand in his own. Dalamar looked away, embarrassed by the show of trust.

Tanis had turned to Laurana. He was holding a new sword he had found somewhere and was furious with the elven girl.

"You are going right back!" Gilthanas shouted, looking, if anything, even angrier than Half-elven.

"I'm not going back," the elfmaid countered, all but pouting at her brother. "I'm coming with you and Tanthalas and..." She looked over nervously at Dalamar. "...And the rest."

"Laurana, this is madness, we're not going on an outing. This isn't a game. You saw what just happened, we were nearly killed!"

"I know Tanthalas," the elven princess sounded like a child denied some treat. "You told me there comes a time when you've got to risk your life for something you believe in. I'm the one who followed you."

Dalamar groaned. Clearly, the idea of having her along no more attractive to him than it was to Tanis. "We do not need an untrained girl tagging along."

Laurana flinched. "I have been trained -all elven women are, in memory of a time we fought beside our men to save our homeland."

"It's not serious training," Tanis argued, for once joining the Dark elf's side of an argument.

"I followed you, didn't I?" the elven girl interrupted. "Skilfully?" She turned to Sturm.

"Yes," the knight admitted.

"That doesn't mean-"

Deciding that if allowed to continue, this debate could take all day, Raistlin stepped in, "We are losing time, and I for one do not want to spend any longer than I must in this dank and musty tunnel." All too true. Although the herbs had helped his cough, the cold was not making his breathing any easier. "The girl has made her decision. We can hardly spare anyone to go back with her."

The elven mage sighed, but nodded. "She can't go back by herself either, she knows far too much, and should she be captured, this Verminaard would have her tell everything."

The look Tanis turned on them was one of pure poison, but there was nothing he could say. Instead he looked at the elfmaiden. "You are on your own," he told her, with a coldness that rivalled Dalamar's own. "I can't hang around protecting you. Neither can Gilthanas. You have behaved like a spoiled brat. I told you once before -you'd better grow up. Now, if you don't, you're going to die and probably get the rest of us killed along with you!" Dalamar raised an eyebrow at the Half-elf's ire, looking mildly impressed.

Raistlin leant on the Staff of Magius as the exhaustion of casting kicked in, and shook his head. Nice words, but he doubted Tanis would back them up. The Half-elf would probably spend the rest of his time looking back over his shoulder to check the girl was all right. His suspicions were not helped when Laurana swore to make Tanis proud of her, and confessed her love. He snorted and Dalamar rolled his eyes. "Nuitari help us."

The Qualinesti princess shot the Dark elf a worried look, but Tanis ignored her. "It seems we must take the right-hand corridor after all, whether or not Raistlin's feelings about evil were correct." He buckled on his new sword, and for the first time, the young mage saw it fully.

The sword of Kith-Kanan.

"Where did you get that?" he whispered.

Half-elven turned around, looking back at the throne. "I was near the body of the elven king, looking for something to throw at the slug, when, suddenly, the sword was in my hand. It had been taken out of its sheath and-" Tanis' voice broke off as he reached the same conclusion the mage had.

"Yes?"

"_He_ gave it to me. I remember his hand touched mine. He pulled from the sheath."

"Who?" Dalamar hissed.

"Kith-Kanan..." Tanis breathed, looking again at the throne. The skeleton's hands were empty.

* * *

It was when they had turned to leave the chamber, going back the way they came, that Dalamar turned to Raistlin. The tension of the last few hours had gone and the Dark elf looked, if anything, even more ashamed. "About earlier..."

Raistlin raised a hand. "Never mind."

"But he-"

Raistlin looked over at Eben, golden eyes boring into the man's back. "I know."

_Skull Bearer._


	18. Of the Dead

_Dalamar Nightson: I like Tas, but I skip him a lot because I focus on Raistlin and Dalamar and their interactions, we'll also be seeing a lot less of him in DoWN and DoSD since I'm not going to be covering the Golden General storyline (thank the Gods.)  
As for Palin... he has good potential, but Weiss and Hickman screwed up. I think you'll like my Palin a lot more (he isn't such a wimp, for one thing), although he does get Raistlin's staff (Dalamar doesn't and for good reason)._

_Tsukino no Yume: That;'s the thing with our two mages, their very clever and always used to being in the right, so when they argue it can get problematic.  
They are different now, it was inevitable really, I've screwed with the timeline too much for them to stay the way they were in canon._

**Crepuscule**

Chapter eighteen - Of the Dead

_Just sway  
You don't know  
Just sway  
All you want is to find home  
Sway, Lost Prophets._

The sudden drop in temperature when they entered the right-hand tunnel reminded Raistlin as nothing so much as his meeting with Fistandantilus; the chill was the same, the chill of death and decay. He shivered at the memory. The whispers began the moment he set foot in the tunnel, the soft echoes of the future louder than they had been since Xak Tsaroth. They hissed of danger, of nameless fear and deathless evil locked here for centuries uncounted.

Nor was the young mage the only one sensing the growing darkness. Dalamar was on edge, occasionally even shuddering, and even the irrepressible Tasslehoff seemed uneasy. The feeling only increased as they approached the end of the tunnel, a hole had been bored into the wall and from it came such a feeling of malevolence that Raistlin took a step back and crashed into the Dark elf coming up behind him.

Already unnerved, Dalamar flinched away, then gave a self-deprecating smile.

"Are you alright?" The Red Robe's low whisper seemed far too loud in the narrow tunnel and echoing dark.

Dalamar nodded. "This place... it reminds me of the night in Darken Wood, the moments just before the spectres appeared."

Raistlin looked down the pitch-black hole. "That same feeling of danger, of hostility," he finished, glancing back at his lover. The Silvanesti nodded.

But here, as in Darken Wood, they had no choice but to continue. However, who would be the first through the dreadful opening?

"Well, we can't stay here forever." Eben was trying to sound decisive, but the shake in his voice gave him away. "Let the elf go in. He's the one who brought us here."

Gilthanas agreed, "I'll go, but I'll need light." He looked at the Staff of Magius.

"None may touch the staff but I." Raistlin felt insulted at the merest insinuation that he let the elf hold it. Ignoring the whispers' dire warnings, he stepped forward. "I'll go with you." Behind him, he heard Dalamar sigh and walk over to join him.

The Qualinesti prince scowled, "We don't need you."

The Dark elf sneered, "What a pity, because I am coming anyway."

No one else spoke, but Raistlin saw the look Sturm turned on them both and tightened his grip on his staff.

Dalamar helped him over the rubble blocking the mouth of the hole, and the human mage nodded his thanks before holding the Staff of Magius up and letting the light from it illuminate the room.

Even the sight of the narrow room with its many stone doors was enough to make him shiver. The whispers were even louder now, more insistent, and the combination of those added to the feeling of ineffable evil cloaking this place was enough to give the Red Robe a splitting headache.

He rubbed his forehead, and looked around again.

The Silvanesti had walked forwards a few steps and was staring at one of the doors. "These carvings..." The Dark elf looked pensive, as though he was trying to remember something long forgotten.

Gilthanas had not forgotten though. "The Royal Crest!" There was no mistaking the dread in his voice.

Raistlin's looked at him. "What?"

"These are the crypts of the Royal Guard." The Qualinesti's voice had dropped to a whisper, and he was backing away from the doors. "They are pledged to continue their duties, even in death, and guard the king -so the legends speak."

"And so the legends come to life," Raistlin breathed.

Dalamar hurried back to stand beside him, just as each of the stone doors swung open. The cold was unbelievable and the Dark elf caught hold of Raistlin's arm. "We have to leave, now! These cannot be reasoned with, and we don't have the power to fight them. They only have one goal-"

"-To destroy all who dare disturb the king's rest!" The cold was even greater, and Raistlin doubled over coughing. His lover crouched over him, one hand on his back in a -futile- gesture of protection.

They were suddenly pushed aside, not by undead guardians, but by a very much alive Fizban and Goldmoon.

"What are you doing?" Dalamar shouted.

Raistlin hushed him. What good Goldmoon would be was debatable, but he had no doubt the old man had the skill to repulse this threat.

Fizban shook his head. "Young people. Alarmists."

The Plainswoman broke in, "It's all right," she assured them. "Look!" She drew aside her cloak, revealing her medallion, which was glowing the same blue as the crystal staff. "Fizban said they would let us pass if they saw the medallion. And when he said that -it began to glow."

Raistlin nodded, still too overcome by the spasms to speak. The proximity of so much necromancy had triggered his cough, as it had in Darken Wood. Despite the pain, he kept his eyes on the old magician. He had heard tales of clerics banishing or even destroying undead, but somehow he doubted that Goldmoon -a priestess of barely a week- could possibly daunt the small army of undead waiting to attack them. Or perhaps they would let her pass -in ages gone the elven clerics had been able to walk through this place- only to attack the others as they tried to follow.

No, if anything could stop the dead, it would be Fizban.

Neither of the mages spoke as the two walked past, beckoning the others to follow. Wiping the blood-flecked froth from his lips, he nodded to Dalamar. The Dark elf sighed; clearly, the idea of passing in front of a hoard of undead with only a barmy old magician and a novice priestess for protection didn't appeal to him. Still, he took Raistlin's arm and helped him follow.

All was still behind the open doors, whatever had been woken by their presence was asleep once more. Despite this, Dalamar's tight grip on the Raistlin's shoulder became more painful with every step they took inside the hall. The Dark elf's fears, however, were in vain. Even as they walked, the Red Robe could feel the evil presence slowly vanish, and the whispers die away.

Confidence revived, Tasslehoff ran past the two wizards and peered into one of the crypts. Through the darkness, Raistlin could see the hollow bones and armour of an elven warrior laid out on a funeral bier. As Dalamar passed, the bones creaked warningly, and it was a relief to reach the end of the hall and leave it by means of the double set of bronze doors set into the wall, eventually reaching a much less menacing room. The only difficulty there was in getting Flint to leave and in putting up with his endless ranting about dwarven construction afterwards.

There were two doors leading out of that room, neither particularly remarkable. After some deliberation, they picked the right-hand door. This seemed, on first impression, to lead to a dead end. The door at the end of the passageway was impossible to open.

Flint gave the door a once over and snorted, "It's a false door!"

Caramon, who had spent the past three minutes trying to open it, paused and wiped the sweat off his face. "It looks real to me! It's even got hinges!"

Flint snorted again. "Of course it does, we don't build false doors to look false -even a gully dwarf knows that."

Eben spoke up, and again Raistlin noticed that he seemed to have vanished when the undead had woken. Either way, he was no help now.

It was strange to build a tunnel only to have it end abruptly at a false door with not even a trap to catch unwary explorers, the young mage thought. "Stand back," he warned the others. Putting his staff to one side, he lay the tips of his fingers against the wall, murmuring the spell. _"Khetsaram pakliol."_

The light didn't come from that wall, as Raistlin had expected, but rather from the one with the false door. Caramon gave a shout as the whole wall -not to mention a sizable portion of the corridor- began to swing around.

"Quickly, before it shuts!" Tanis ordered.

Once on the other side, the physical effects of casting the spell caught up with the wizard and he was unable to hold back his cough-fitting, since the spell he had cast had come from Fistandantilus' own spellbook. He hoped the other spells would not have that effect when he learnt to cast them.

"Are you alright?" Caramon sounded concerned.

Raistlin ignored him. The fit passed quickly, though he still felt weak and was grateful for Dalamar's hand on his arm.

The passageway ended in another door, which Tasslehoff reported -to his chagrin- to be open. The room the corridor led to was strange, perfectly round, to the point that even the doors leading to and from it were curved to fit it. It was completely empty save from a massive chain. A chain that, Gilthanas reported, was part of the formidable defence mechanism for Pax Tharkas: Should the chain be released from its bracket, it would drop immovable blocks of granite behind the fortress's gates.

The Red Robe stared at the chain without really seeing it; he felt rather strange. At first he wondered if it had been due to casting an unfamiliar spell, but slowly realised it was something far more worrying. It was a feeling of danger, but overlaying it, was an aura of power unlike any he had felt since meeting Fistandantilus, and he sincerely doubted that the old lich was here. The whispers were there, but only as a wordless hiss, a soft sound of mental static in the back of his mind.

The Qualinesti prince exclaimed suddenly; he had found another secret door. A sensation of cold dread swept over Raistlin and he looked from one door to the other, wondering if he should step forward to warn the others, or grab Dalamar and escape while he still could. "Don't open it!"

Sturm's eyes narrowed. "Why not?" The Solamnic's voice was soft and dangerous, quite unlike his usual tone, and Raistlin saw his hand tighten on the grip of his sword. "Because you and Nightson want to alert someone before we find a way into Pax Tharkas?"

"Had I wanted to betray you, knight, I could have done so a thousand times before this! I sense a power behind that door greater than any I have felt since-" the mage stopped, realising he had said too much.

"Since when?" Dalamar's voice was sharp.

Raistlin gritted his teeth and cursed himself, but it was too late to back off now. "Since the Tower of High Sorcery," he admitted. "I warn you, do not open that door!"

Dalamar's face was carefully expressionless, and Raistlin averted his eyes, feeling the Dark elf's grey ones boring into his back, feeling guilty. His train of thought broke off as Gilthanas impatiently reminded them that the way into Pax Tharkas was through a secret passage, and opened the door.

"Don't!" Dalamar exclaimed.

"You will regret this," the Raistlin warned.

The room it opened to was large and filled floor to ceiling with gold. It was a pretty sight, but a worthless one, and certainly not worth what Raistlin saw next.

"What is it?" Caramon yelled, staring at the apparition.

"I don't know," Sturm choked.

"A banshee!" Dalamar shouted. "The spirit of a Dark elf like myself! Close the door you fools!"

"Run, all of you!" the younger wizard snarled. "You cannot fight her. Her touch is mortal and even the sound of her voice is death! Through the south door now!"

The translucent, shadowy shape within the room was taking shape, and there was something almost familiar in the ancient spirit's face, something he had seen before in his lover's eyes, though this woman had died long ago. They had the same cold beauty.

"Somehow I don't think she's going to hold back because I'm there," Dalamar spat, as if reading his mind. The elven mage's hand closed above Raistlin's elbow as he pulled him away. "Come on!"

The Dark elf was right; at the sight of them, the banshee reached for them, her mouth dropping open, far wider than seemed possible, as though, like a snake, she could dislocate her jaws.

Before the spirit could give voice to her loathing and hate, the group turned and fled, piling through the bronze door. Caramon knocked into Raistlin, throwing the slender mage to the ground before tripping over him and crashing down himself. The Staff of Magius span out of the mage's grasp, the light scattering out all over the floor.

There was no need for light in order to see the advancing spirit though. Like the spectres of Darken Wood, the banshee's ethereal form was edged with ghost-lights, shimmering as she advanced.

Cursing his brother and groping for his staff, Raistlin stared as the spirit reached out and touched Eben, and the man screamed and collapsed.

Sturm reached to pull the man through the door, and as the younger wizard hand closed on the Staff, Dalamar pulled him to his feet. "Close the door!" Raistlin ordered.

Caramon got to his feet and slammed the door closed just as the Solamnic dragged Eben through.

"That won't stop her!" the weakened man cried.

"No," Raistlin murmured. "Her magic is powerful, more powerful than anything I possess. We must cast a spell on that door, to hold or stall her." He leant the Staff against the wall of the corridor. "You still have the spell?" he asked Dalamar.

The Dark elf's face was pale in the light of the staff, but he nodded. "If your Test was anything like this, no wonder you don't want to talk about it," he muttered, pressing both hands against the door.

Raistlin copied him, locking his mind into the focus needed for casting. _"Kalis-an budrunin-"_

A cry of pain from Dalamar interrupted his casting; the banshee had stretched an incorporeal arm though the partly warded door and stroked the Dark elf's face in a deceptively gentle gesture. Dalamar staggered back and fell over.

Raistlin tried to block out the fear now crawling across his mind. He reminded himself that he couldn't do anything for his lover if he stopped; if he wanted to help him, he should finish the spell. If he didn't, then they would both die. But the spell was gone, flown from his memory in that moment of indecision, and he could feel the door shudder as he leant against it, the weak wards trembling and falling against the banshee's onslaught. Should she come through, it would mean their deaths. Dalamar was in no state to help him, he had probably also lost the spell anyway, and Fizban was nowhere in sight.

Raistlin closed his eyes. He hated doing this, but as in the Sentinel Peaks, as in Xak Tsaroth, he had no choice. Tentatively, he reached down to the cold, dead place inside himself, the place of the link between himself and Fistandantilus. The lich drew on Raistlin's life to survive, and now the young wizard would draw on the archmage's power to do just the same.

_"Kalis-an budrinin kara-emarath!"_The voice was triumphant and barely recognisable as his own.

He quickly withdrew from the point of power, fearful that Fistandantilus would have noticed. Behind the door came a wail of anguish and rage as the wards held.

Raistlin stumbled backwards, then fell over as the exhausting double blow of casting and stealing power hit him. He must have blacked out, because when he opened his eyes it was to the all-too welcome sight of Dalamar. "Are you alright?" He felt groggy and tired beyond belief.

The Dark elf gave a thin smile. "I _really_ hate undead," he said by means of an answer, then reached down and hugged Raistlin, then helped him to his feet. "The banshee is trapped, we've finally reached the cellar of Pax Tharkas, and the kender and the old man are missing. So, all good news."

"Fizban's gone?" Raistlin queried as he picked up the staff. He wasn't worried about the old man, he had absolutely no doubt that he could look after himself, but it did mean that they were on their own from now on.

The others were packing up the remains of a meal -clearly, he had been unconscious for quite some time. They were in what was probably a storage room, several crates and boxes had been thrown in here, marked for either Gateway or Solace. Dalamar was right, they had finally reached the cellars of Pax Tharkas.

Gilthanas had unrolled a map on one of the crates. "We are in the cellars here on the lowest level. Down this hallway, about fifty feet from here, are the rooms where the women are imprisoned. This here is a guard room, across from the women, and this-" He tapped the map with a grim expression- "is the lair of one of the red dragons, the one Lord Verminaard calls Ember."

_One_ of the red dragons? How many were there? Raistlin hoped that they had all gone with the army, but realised this was quite likely a futile expectation. _Of course_ the dragons would still be there.

"The dragon is so big, of course, that the lair extends up above ground level, communicating with Lord Verminaard's chambers on the first floor, up through the gallery on the second floor, and out into the open sky."

This meant that the dragon they would quite likely have to face would be far, far larger than the one they had fought in Xak Tsaroth, and this time they would have no crystal staff to help them.

The Qualinesti prince went back to the rest of the map. "On the first floor, behind Verminaard's chambers, there is the prison where the children are kept. The Dragon Highlord is wise. He keeps the hostages separated, knowing that the women will not leave without their children, and the men not leave without their families. A second red dragon in this room guards the children. The men -about three hundred of them- work in the mines out in the mountain caves. There are several gully dwarves working in the mines as well."

"You seem to know a lot about Pax Tharkas," Eben said darkly.

"What do you insinuate?" Gilthanas' expression said that he knew what the human swordman was saying all too well.

"I'm not insinuating anything. It's just that you know a lot about this place for never having been here! And wasn't it interesting that we kept running into creatures that damn near killed us in the Sla-Mori." Eben made a good point, but one that fell apart if you thought about it for more than two seconds. The only thing capable stopping the draconian invasion of Qualinesti was them, and Raistlin didn't believe for one moment that the elven prince wanted his homeland destroyed and his people put to the sword.

He wondered if it would be best to reveal what he and Dalamar knew, or if it would not truly matter. The Dark elf looked at him, the same question clear in his eyes, and the human finally shook his head. He doubted if it would make much of a difference and to do it now would simply invite suspicion to fall on them. Tanis spoke up, replying that if there was a traitor, they would have betrayed them long before this, because what was the point of letting them make it this far?

"To bring me and the Disks to Lord Verminaard." Goldmoon was pale, but her voice was calm. "He knows I am here, Tanis. He and I are linked by our faith."

Sturm snorted, dismissing the idea, but the Plainswoman continued, reminding them of the missing constellations. "Verminaard worships the Queen of Darkness as I worship Mishakal: That is what my Goddess meant when she said we had to restore the balance. The promise of good that I bring is the one thing he fears and he is exerting all his will to find me. The longer I stay here..."

"All the more reason to stop bickering," the Half-elf said shortly, staring at Eben.

The human shrugged. "Enough said, I'm with you."

"What's the plan Gilthanas?"

The Qualinesti's plan was simple: he and his warriors were to disguise themselves as women, go to the men in the mines -Verminaard allowed the men's wives one visit a day to show that he was keeping his end of the bargain- and tell them of the plan to free the hostages, warning them to be alert for an attack. Unfortunately, they hadn't thought much beyond that, and had no idea how to free the children. Gilthanas said that he expected that Lord Verminaard himself and his dragon would have left by tomorrow, to oversee the attack on Qualinesti. Raistlin glanced over at Dalamar, who shook his head, perhaps they were pessimists, but they could remember all too well another instance where they had believed the dragon had left.

The two stayed silent as the others discussed the elf's plan. It was decided that they would have a look at the dragon guarding the children before putting their plan into action; it might give them an idea of how to avoid or bypass that particular obstacle.

Then, quietly, they left the storeroom.

* * *

It was just as well the draconians in the guard post were drunk, otherwise the women's cries as the group entered their room might quite well have ruined the plan before it started. As it was, either they didn't notice or they didn't care, for no one came. It took a few moments before they could calm everyone down enough to be able to explain their plan. Once convinced that the newcomers were not going to harm them, the thirty or so women in the cell were quite happy to listen to the plan the companions had set out, although they were somewhat less eager to take part. Eventually, one of them, a woman called Maritta, restored some semblance of order and offered to help.

The two mages sat back as the others disguised themselves. They were staying behind; Raistlin was still exhausted from the banshee's attack, and Dalamar hadn't fully recovered either. Sturm had been furious at the thought of leave two -as he thought- suspected traitors at their back, but Tanis talked him round. "It'll be hard enough to convince the men to come as it is. Having a Dark elf with us won't help matters."

The two mages watched, somewhat amused, as the women found and modified some old clothes to fit the men. The first problem came when the Solamnic was asked to shave off his moustaches. Dalamar stifled a laugh at the look on the knight's face and his roar of rage at the very idea.

"I can burn them off, if you want," the Dark elf offered, and Raistlin couldn't help but laugh.

Tanis shot them both a poisonous look and offered a solution -that Sturm cover his face with a scarf.

After that was settled, and Riverwind was also appeased -apparently wearing woman's clothing was a mark of shame among the Que-shu- the small group, along with Maritta and the rest of the women, waited for the guards to lead them out to bring dinner to the men.

The two wizards huddled back into the corner of the cell furthest from the door, hoping the guards would be drunk enough to overlook them. Mercifully, when the draconians did come, they were so intoxicated that they could barely stand upright. After shooing the women out of the room, they staggered out again without even giving the cell another look.

The door closed with a bang, and Raistlin closed his eyes. He was tired, more tired than he had thought. He would study his spellbook later, but for now, he didn't want to do anything but sleep.

_Please review_

_Skull Bearer._


	19. Of Battle

_Bob the Gremlin- Soon enough for you?_

_dracoqueen22- Ah, blast, I hate when that happens. Sorry. Glad you like the Sturm-hate, he's one of my least favourite characters, up there with Tanis._

_Tsukiyo no Yume: Sturm in drag... (snicker) yep, too true. Pink is **so **your colour darling..._

_What I wrote about Raistlin's staff is an attempt to correct a discrepancy in Weiss and Hickman's writing. What happens in this doesn't match up to what happens in Brother in Arms where Raistlin meets a dragon. As for Goldmoon and the dagger... well, I play 3.5. ;)_

**Crepuscule**

Chapter nineteen - Of Battle

_Theres a light pausing  
Feel the volume of the sky  
Mark your place in time with another question why...  
-Sway, Lost Prophets_

Gods, when had things become so complicated? It had seemed so easy between them, even a few short months ago, but now everything seemed to be changing, and this present argument was not helping matters.

"I still say we should have told them," Dalamar persisted.

Raistlin growled in exasperation, "And I still say that it would have been pointless. What did it matter if the traitor was revealed? By the time we knew, it was already too late, those idiots had told him more than enough. He would have gone straight to Verminaard, and we would have received a draconian welcoming committee. At least this way we have some chance."

The elven wizard bit his lip. "I don't believe that."

The Red Robe must have read the emotions he was trying to hide because he frowned suddenly. "What did he promise to tempt you?"

Damn, that was one answer the Dark elf wanted to keep locked up forever. He didn't think Raistlin would like it if he knew.

"He offered safety for both of us, didn't he?" Raistlin's voice was flat. "Me, particularly."

The elf nodded reluctantly.

"By all the Gods Dalamar, I thought that settled. How many times do I have to tell you that I can look out for myself?"

"And look how well have you have been been doing that!" the Dark elf snapped. "Poisoned by draconians, nearly killed by that black dragon, not to mention almost coughing yourself into a coma three days ago! And add to this the fact that you _still_ won't tell me what caused that. So no, Raistlin Majere, I'm _not_ sure if you can look after yourself!"

For once, the younger mage had no answer. He lowered his eyes and sighed again. "Very well, I understand you've had reason to worry, but was that offer so tempting that you couldn't even tell me about it?"

Dalamar shook his head. "If I had, the deal would've been off. It wasn't just safety he was offering, but... Gods Raistlin, do you really want to go on like this? I've been scorned, sneered, and attacked by everyone we've met on this little quest, and you haven't been treated much better. To be accorded some measure of respect would be very welcome and, well..." He looked at his lover slyly.

"The power offered was tempting?" the human wondered aloud, smiling.

The Dark elf nodded.

"So why did you fight beside me in the end, when he so clearly wanted you to stand back?"

Dalamar shrugged. "I could see you were going to fight anyway, and I wasn't going to let you attack that thing by yourself. Besides-" he sighed "-it wasn't worth lying to you. There's been enough tension already."

He had hoped, though, that his admission would prompt Raistlin into revealing his own secrets, and finally end the silence hanging between them. Clearly, he had thought wrong, although the Dark elf thought he detected a brief flash of something behind his lover's eyes, but it was gone before he could place it. He shook his head and returned to the original topic, "All the more reason what we should have told the others about the traitor. If he's going to Verminaard, who do you think are going to be the first ones he comes after? He knows I know, and most likely knows that you do too. There's enough danger here without adding to it."

Raistlin still disagreed, "Even admitting that revealing the traitor would have made a difference, what's the likelihood of anyone believing us? You said it yourself, they all hate us, Sturm particularly. If we point the finger it's our word against his, and whom do you think they'll believe? If anything, denouncing him would have put you in more danger, as you would be a suspect."

Dalamar dropped his face in his hands. His lover was right, but it was painful to wait here while their secrets might be being sold at that very moment.

"It's all academic anyway," Raistlin finished. "He's gone now, and it's probably too late."

The Dark elf's head snapped up at that. "No it isn't." He kicked back the blankets and got to his feet, moving towards the door.

"What-"

Dalamar opened the door and checked the corridor, empty. "I'm going to find him and make sure, one way or another, that he never tells anyone anything." Quickly, he slipped out of the cell.

A careful check in the draconian's cell found the guards dead at their post. The lack of noise meant that they had been taken by surprise, either due to drunkenness or because someone they thought an ally had attacked them. The room had been overturned, to make it look as though there had been a struggle, but the Silvanesti guessed the work was very recent. The corpses of the draconians had not crumbled yet.

The Dark elf picked up his pace and hurried down the corridor.

* * *

Raistlin caught up with his two junctions later. Grabbing hold of the Dark elf's arm and spinning him around, he hissed, "What do you think you're doing?" 

"I told you." Dalamar tried to pull away, but Raistlin held on.

"For someone who's professed such an interest in my wellbeing, you're not doing much better than I am," he snapped. "What do you think the others will think if they come back and find us missing? Who do you think they'll suspect?"

The Dark elf hesitated and Raistlin pulled on his robes, urging him to head back. With a resigned sigh, Dalamar nodded and they walked back to the woman's chamber.

Unfortunately, they weren't the first ones back. Gilthanas was already there and on seeing them, his eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"Where have you been?" he demanded.

"Out." Dalamar answered flatly; he was in no mood for this.

"What do you mean out-" the Qualinesti got to his feet and advanced.

The Dark elf closed the distance, staring down the other. "What does it matter what I say?" he hissed. "You'll believe whatever you like." Turning, he stormed back to the corner he and Raistlin had slept in and threw himself down on the bedding, scowling.

His lover sat beside him, wrapping himself in the blankets as his cough shook him.

* * *

Eben came back shortly after, to the same interrogation from the Qualinesti prince. The man told him that he had fought the draconians in the next cell. He was just telling his story when the others arrived, and had to repeat it for their benefit. Then it was Gilthanas' turn. He was reluctant to speak at first, then finally told them. 

"I returned to see if you mages were really as tired as they said." The look in the Qualinesti's eyes told Dalamar that this was hardly the real reason, but he continued, "They must not have been. Both of them had gone."

Caramon got up, blind obedience and blind rage combined, but Sturm pushed him aside. "Is that true? Where were you?" The knight's hand was on the pommel of his sword.

"Why should we answer?" Raistlin said softly. "None of you trusts us, so why should you believe a word Dalamar or I say?"

They both stepped back as the Solamnic drew his sword, their own hands going to the pouches containing spell components. The Dark elf was glad that he had a chance to study his spellbook; this was not going to be an easy fight. He wondered if he might have been better off accepting the dragonarmy's offer after all.

The knight hefted his blade, pushed past a shocked Tanis and closed on the two mages. Quickly, so that Sturm wouldn't have time to attack, Dalamar and Raistlin cast at the same time.

The Red Robe cast a sleep spell, probably hoping to knock Brightblade out. It worked, but the elf's choice of spell rendered it useless: The knight went down hard and then was hit by a barrage of magic projectiles, which woke him right up again. With a roar of rage, he lunged at the two magic-users, and they backed away quickly, trying to get enough distance to prepare another spell before Sturm reached them.

"STOP!" Tanis shouted, catching hold of his friend's shoulder and dragging him to a halt. "Enough! We don't know who's the traitor here, but fighting won't help."

"You defend them?" The Solamnic was outraged. Dalamar's spell had hit the side of his face and the skin there was burnt red.

"We don't know if they are the ones who betrayed us." Tanis tried to calm him down. "We have no proof. Remember your vows, Sturm."

The knight sighed, rubbing his burnt cheek gingerly. Finally, he sheathed his sword, but not before he shot one final look of utter hatred at the two wizards.

Behind them all, and out of sight from anyone but Dalamar, Eben was smirking.

* * *

No one slept well that night. The others were on edge, all wondering who the traitor was, and Dalamar for one found it hard to rest with Eben and Sturm at such close quarters. They were woken at dead man's watch, the darkest hour before dawn. Tanis quickly went over the plan; they would all go and free the children, disguised as the women who brought the children breakfast. The men in the mines would fight their way free and meet up with the women near the mines. The companions would then bring the children to them and all of them would escape to the south. 

Dalamar tried not to think of the thousand or so things that could go wrong with the plan, even without Eben. It was depressing enough as it was.

The Dark elf pulled on a ragged brown dress, scrunching up the front to give a more feminine appearance before lacing it up. It was roughspun, and he felt utterly ridiculous in it. Raistlin couldn't stop smiling at the sight of him. The Silvanesti shot him a look that said _you don't look any better yourself_. It was quite true, although the human mage's dress was grey rather than brown and he had swathed himself in a torn cloak to hide his golden skin and strange eyes. He'd wrapped a scrap of cloth around the dragon's claw on his staff, making it look like any walking staff.

Finally, they were all ready to go, and Maritta led them up the stairs. The draconians who let them out didn't accompany them, perhaps because they had discovered the remains of their comrades.

Or perhaps not. When they reached the top of the stairs, Dalamar saw that the door leading out was guarded. It had to be more than coincidence. Hands on their weapons, they walked forwards.

"You're early this morning," one of the draconian guards remarked.

"It smells of thunder," Maritta answered and the Dark elf smiled. Not many people could tell such a bold-faced lie to a snarling draconian. "I want the children to have their exercise before the storm hits. And what are you doing here? This door is never guarded. You'll frighten the children."

The draconian's version of a grin was twisted, and showed off row after row of far-too-sharp teeth. "Lord Verminaard's command. He and Ember are gone this morning to finish the elves. We're ordered to search you before you enter." The draconian looked from Goldmoon to Maritta to Dalamar, and the Dark elf ducked down as the creature's rested on him. "That's going to be a pleasure, I'd say."

It would have been funny had the situation not been so serious, and the moment the draconian stepped towards him, the Dark elf lashed out, driving the point of his dagger through the bottom of the creature's jaw and into its brain. The draconian fossilised instantly but the force of its movement drove it forwards to shatter noisily on the floor.

The other guards had been dispatched, and all had winced at the sudden noise.

"Never mind that!" Tanis snapped. "Into the playroom. Hurry!"

Dalamar paused to pick up his dagger from the mess of smashed stone, then hurried up his pace, glancing back to check that Raistlin wasn't having problems. The younger mage seemed fine, and was having no trouble keeping up with the others.

"If anyone finds these bodies, it'll all be over," Caramon groaned.

"It was over before we began!" Sturm snarled, glancing back at the two mages, eyes glittering with anger. "We've been betrayed, so it's just a matter of time!"

"Keep moving!" Tanis called out sharply.

"Be very quiet," Maritta whispered. "Flamestrike generally sleeps soundly. If she does waken, act like women. She'll never recognise you. She's blind in one eye."

Pausing briefly for Caramon of open the huge double doors that led to the courtyard, the group move swiftly into the dark passage that led to the dragon's lair.

* * *

Dalamar knew next to nothing of dragonkind. His knowledge amounted to the few texts he and Raistlin had managed to find, a handful of legends and kender tales, and the black wyrm they had fought in Xak Tsaroth. He did know though, that if the red dragon -Flamestrike- had been younger or less crippled, they would never have stood a chance. Not even with a dozen Blue Crystal staffs. The black dragon had been huge, but this creature was something else entirely. The lair she slept in was over a hundred feet long, and yet the dragon's tail still curled along the end wall, and her massive neck, scarred and pitted from thousands of battles, was bent back so that the massive head rested against the forefeet. The creature's head alone was larger than a wagon, and the teeth, yellowing and broken as they were, were still the size of Tanis's sword. 

Yes, had this creature been in her prime, they would all be dead. Fortunately, she wasn't. The massive wings were dry and cracked, rent from ancient battles long before Dalamar's father was even born, the red scales were faded and scarred. When she opened her eyes as the group came in, one was milky white.

"Is it time for breakfast already, Maritta?" The dragon's voice was a low rumble, seeming to come from her throat.

The woman quickly soothed the dragon and Flamestrike's eyes soon drifted closed again.

It was about the time when they were creeping past the dragon that Dalamar noticed an odd noise, just on the edge of hearing but growing louder. A low buzzing sound, like angry bees, that was quite unlike anything he had heard before. As the sounds increased, he wasn't the only one hearing it. The whirring sound came from Tanis, although judging by his expression he had no more idea what it was than they did. The noise grew louder still and the dragon beside them snorted and growled, shaking her heavy head at the sound.

The Dark elf turned to Raistlin, but the human mage wasn't paying attention to him. He was clutching his staff tightly, and from where he was, the Dark elf could see that the crystal, swathed as it was in rags, was alight with a brilliant radiance. It was reacting to the presence of the dragon, but that meant...

The two wizards exchanged horrified looks and the human ran over to Tanis and pulled back his cloak.

"The sword!"

Of course, why had none of them realised? Kith-Kanan's legendary sword was better known as Wyrmslayer, and, like Raistlin's staff, it had been created for the sole purpose of killing dragons.

For once, he agreed with Half-elven; this was an abysmal time to remember.

"Or a very convenient time," Sturm added.

"This is not the time!" Tanis shouted over the increasing noise.

The dragon suddenly woke, the sound piercing even her sound slumber, and the first warning streamers of smoke emerged from her jaws as she spoke. "What have you brought Maritta? I hear a sound I have not heard in centuries, and I smell the foul scent of steel! These are not the women! These are warriors!"

Slowly the huge dragon started to raise herself up to attack, the half-elf drew his sword in response.

"Don't hurt her!" Maritta begged.

"I may not have any choice!" Although, but by the looks of things, it might not come to a fight after all. Once drawn, the sword shone with a blinding light and the dragon backed away from it. Taking Tanis' lead, Raistlin undid the cloth covering his staff, and the light from the crystal grew even brighter, filling the room and throwing everything into sharp contrasts of black and white.

"Run, get the children!" Half-elven shouted, he and the Raistlin moved forward, Dalamar following, backing the dragon far enough for Maritta and Goldmoon to get through to the playroom. The others followed quickly.

The human mage took his eyes off the weakened dragon and looked over at his lover, the light from sword and staff glancing off his metallic skin and making his eyes glitter. "Are you staying?"

The Dark elf smiled and nodded, then he too turned away from the dragon as the others came back, herding a group of children, one of whom actually lunged at Tanis for attacking the dragon.

"Get them out of here!" the Half-elf shouted.

Dalamar looked away from the gaggle and at the dragon, realising things were going to get ugly very quickly. The children were led out, some calling farewells to the old creature who had guarded them, but the dragon herself was not taking it very well, groaning and moaning as she relived whatever event had killed her own brood. Worse, even through the blinding light of the weapons, the Dark elf could see that Flamestrike's eyes were starting to blaze with rage, and smoke flickered through her broken teeth, a sure warning of the blasts of flame soon to come.

The Silvanesti took a step back, so did everyone else.

"Not my children!" The Flamestrike roared, her voice making the ground tremble.

"Leave, all of you," Raistlin whispered under the noise.

"What-" spluttered Tanis.

"No-" Sturm growled.

"I'm not-" Dalamar protested.

"There is little I can do against a red dragon, but _nothing_ that you can," the young mage cut them off. "I can buy us time."

The Solamnic looked about to argue, but Tanis grabbed him by the arm and dragged him back. The Dark elf paused, uncertainly, but Raistlin looked back at him and nodded. "Move back near the tunnel. When you hear me start to speak, run."

The Dark elf obeyed, occasionally glancing back. His lover still had his staff raised, but the light was no longer daunting the maddened dragon. She was just about to pounce when Raistlin cast his spell.

_"Dulak!"_

A globe of darkness covered the attacking dragon's head, blinding her completely and stopping her in her tracks. It was the same spell as the dragon of Xak Tsaroth had used, another from the spellbook the human had found there, a spellbook Dalamar couldn't cast from yet. At the sight of what the spell did to his lover, the Dark elf wasn't sure he ever wanted to use that tome. Raistlin was doubled over, leaning against the Staff of Magius and coughing heavily.

Cursing both himself and his companion, Dalamar ran back, grabbed his lover about the waist, and dragged him away from the now wailing dragon.

"I thought I told you to stay back?" Raistlin's voice was hoarse, but the fit had passed.

"I though I told you to take care of yourself?" the Dark elf retorted, but there was no venom in his voice and he couldn't help but smile.

* * *

The sun had risen by the time they reached the courtyard, and the light was dazzling after the gloom of Flamestrike's lair. Dalamar only just had time to adjust to the change before another roar rang out over Pax Tharkas and the surrounding mountains. A dragon's roar and one from a very different creature than the one they had just left. As he and Raistlin had suspected, the Dragon Highlord hadn't gone anywhere.

The courtyard was a scene of chaos. Men, women, and children were charging around in the open, trying to find their families, someone had let the men out of the mines sooner than expected. It was quite obvious who, and this time even Tanis and Sturm realised the truth, having seen Eben running for the mines just before bedlam had erupted.

Dalamar looked over the commotion. Elistan was trying to regain control but was failing. The Dark elf met Raistlin's golden eyes and the two mages nodded, there was nothing they could do here but die once the Dragon Highlord and his mount appeared, and if these fools wanted to stay and die it was their business. Unfortunately, before they could move, the ground trembled in a horrifyingly familiar manner and Verminaard and his dragon reared out of Pax Tharkas.

The dragon was precisely the kind of creature the Dark elf had decided they could never stand a chance against. As large as -if not larger than- Flamestrike and with wings that eclipsed the sun, it circled the courtyard, letting its rider get a good look at the situation. Dalamar suddenly found himself on the floor, his legs suddenly deciding against holding him up. Stubbornly fighting against the dragonfear that had crippled all those in the yard, he shoved himself to his feet. The despair was harder to shake, as was the realisation that this was as much his fault as it was anyone's. Grimly, he wished Raistlin had not stopped him from killing Eben; perhaps then they wouldn't be in this mess, in a crowded courtyard with a dragon ready to spring and rain death down on them.

The dragon circled once more, then landed on one of the fortress towers. The Silvanesti caught sight of the Dragon Highlord on the dragon's back, clad and helmed in black armour.

Raistlin caught hold of his lover's shoulder and pointed. The elf had no problem in recognising Eben, who was running towards the gates of the fortress with a stranger in tow.

Dalamar smiled grimly. By Nuitari, he'd wanted to kill the traitor and now was the perfect chance. He wasn't the only one with that idea, both Tanis and Sturm were running after Eben, and Raistlin's eyes were narrowed. "I too have a score to settle with this man." The glitter in those golden eyes told the Dark elf that he was the subject of the score.

They caught up with Eben just as Brightblade grabbed him by the throat and threw him down, shouting in rage and raising his sword to behead the traitor. Pity, Dalamar thought. He'd wanted to do it himself, and beheading was a bit too quick. But what else did you expect from a Solamnic knight?

Suddenly, Sturm stopped. Eben's companion, a strange man who might have had some elven blood in him -his face looked so timeless, stepped forward and caught hold of the knight's arm.

Dalamar stared at the man in shock; his shirt had been torn open during his and Eben's flight, revealing a green gem. But not a pendant or a necklace, this gem had been impaled in the stranger's living flesh. It was the size of a man's fist and glimmered strangely, one moment the colour of rotting leaves, the next of swamp grass, colours at once strange and repulsive -yet somehow unbelievably beautiful.

"I have never seen nor heard of magic like this!" Raistlin exclaimed, and Dalamar could only shake his head, wondering what kind of spell or artefact could force a jewel so deeply into a man, yet still leave him alive.

The man flinched back and pulled his shirt closed, then backed away, running for the gates. Eben dragged himself to his feet and hurried after. The Dark elf lifted his hands preparing to cast. The traitor was close enough to risk a spell, and if nothing else, he wanted to give the bastard a scar to remind him of Dalamar Nightson.

The Red Robe covered the Dark elf's hand with his own and shook his head. "Save your spells," he advised, nodding up at where Verminaard was shouting at the terrified people in the courtyard.

"And much good that will do," Dalamar growled; he doubted his spells could do much to Verminaard, let alone to his dragon, but Eben was out of range now anyway.

Caramon came running up. "Look out!" He pointed up at the massive stone wall above the gates.

A crack had opened in the mammoth blocks, although that was a poor word to describe a crevass that wouldn't look out of place in a cliff-face, and from the hole rained down boulder after boulder of granite, each at least the size of a horse. The defence mechanism of Pax Tharkas had somehow started to work, and the crushing weight of hundreds of rocks pounded down.

Right on top of Eben.

Both he and the stranger were instantly crushed under the mammoth pile that fell as the ancient system of defence activated. Clouds were thrown up as the flagstones beneath their feet shattered to dust from the blows. Raistlin covered his face with his cloak and pulled away from the cloud, coughing. Dalamar didn't move, blinking in the stinging dust and staring at the place where the gates of Pax Tharkas had once stood.

Raistlin had been right, it _would_ have been a waste of a spell.

* * *

A deafening roar swept through the courtyard and the little group turned in time to see Verminaard raise his weapon -a heavy mace- to the skies, man and dragon roaring out their hate to the people who scurried- like ants- in a desperate attempt to escape. "I will destroy the men. I will destroy the women! I will destroy the children!" The dark cleric roared.

With a second, even louder roar, the red dragon took to the wing, preparing to dive down and incinerate everyone in the courtyard.

Dalamar and Raistlin threw themselves behind one of the granite boulders in the probably futile hope of escaping the burning holocaust. The young mage buried his face in the Dark elf's shoulder and Dalamar closed his eyes tightly and pressed his face into Raistlin's hair, holding his lover as tightly as he had in Xak Tsaroth.

A third roar exploded, but it didn't come from the Highlord's dragon. Dalamar opened his eyes and looked back in time to see a maddened Flamestrike beat her way free of her lair and crash headlong into Verminaard's mount. Clearly shocked by the unexpected attack, the younger red dragon rolled out of the way, unceremoniously dumping his rider to the ground before tearing off to attack the old female. Flamestrike's attack had another, equally beneficial use. It had shocked the people in the courtyard out of their stupor. As one, they turn and ran for the unblocked southern gate. The appearance of a regiment of draconians did little to stop this; any foolish enough to approach the refugees were set upon.

All of this mattered little to either Dalamar or Raistlin; Verminaard's plunge had dropped him close to them. The cleric had been dazed, but unharmed, and was quickly on his feet as the others closed on him.

"He is a follower of the Dark Queen," Raistlin whispered, one hand on Dalamar's arm, "and he can call on Her aid as Goldmoon calls on Mishakal's, his powers will be far more deadly though."

His lover nodded. Still, he was not too worried. The servant of the dark goddess was alone and there were five of them -Tanis, Sturm, Caramon, Raistlin, and himself- fairly good odds.

The five of them circled the Dragon Highlord, stopping him from backing against a wall and trying to outflank him to attack. Verminaard didn't move, staying crouched down, his black iron mace sweeping over the ground in front of him, readying for a strike. Slowly he turned, following them.

Dalamar slid around to the Highlord's back; with his dragon helm on, Verminaard's vision was obscured, cut off to the sides. The Dark elf moved around, always staying at the cleric's back, never letting the man see him. He briefly considered a spell, then decided against it; even a short spell like the one of the ruins might give the Highlord enough time to attack, not to mention destroying the advantage of surprise. Quietly, Dalamar drew his dagger; the cleric wore little armour and the dagger was enchanted enough to punch through what he had on. The Dark elf crouched down, preparing to attack.

Verminaard moved first though, jumping out of his defensive position and grabbing Raistlin by the shoulder. Dalamar didn't hear the words he spoke, but the effect was horrifying. The young mage screamed as though in the claws of the Dark Queen herself, and sank to the ground.

Plan completely forgotten, the Dark elf lunged forwards, his only though to drive his dagger through the enemy's shoulder blades and stop whatever spell he had cast. Unfortunately, Caramon, who sprang at the cleric with a deafening roar, suddenly blocked his way and he had to stop fast to avoid crashing into the big man. Verminaard turned almost casually and blocked the warrior's attack, his counterattack catching him a glancing blow.

This time Dalamar did hear what he spoke. "Midnight." Not a spell but a command word, and one for a clerical artefact no less. The effect was immediate; Caramon was blinded, and the servant of Takhisis struck him down and turned to Tanis.

The Dark elf drew back; Tanis and Sturm were attacking the cleric, and any spells he cast would hit them too- no matter how much he hated them, this was one fight they had to win. Instead, he knelt down next to Raistlin. His lover was no longer screaming, but his face was locked in such a rictus of agony that Dalamar was loath to touch him in case he compound the pain. When he looked back at the fray, it was not promising, Tanis had been thrown to the ground, and Sturm seemed to be magically frozen in place. Verminaard had his back to Dalamar, no doubt planning to kill the knight.

As much as the Dark elf would have liked to wait just a little longer and the cleric finish off the Solamnic, he knew this was one opportunity he was unlikely to have again. Leaving Raistlin's side, he crept as quickly and silently as he could towards the Dragon Highlord, then jumped at him, dagger outstretched.

The blade sank in the dark cleric's back, scraped his backbone, and slid under the shoulder blade. Verminaard gave a cry that was as much fury as pain and spun around, wrenching the handle of the dagger out of Dalamar's hands. The Dark elf jumped out of the way as the mace whistled past his ribs and backed away. Still holding the mace out to deter any further attacks, the cleric groped madly for the dagger handle to pull it out, but it had sunk in at such an angle that he seemed to be having trouble getting a grip on it.

Out of the way, Dalamar raised his hands and starting whispering a spell, hoping the Highlord was too occupied to notice. It was little good, the moment the first syllables were spoken Verminaard abandoned his attempts at getting rid of the dagger in favour of this more pressing threat. Dalamar had to evade a second attack, losing his spell. The suddenness of the interruption was such that, for a moment, the elf was disoriented.

That moment was enough nevertheless. Verminaard caught him a vicious downcut on the shoulder, and stars exploded in front of Dalamar's eyes. Tears of pain stung his cheeks as he sank to his knees, his whole arm had gone numb, save for a spreading miasma of pain where he had been struck. His shoulder felt broken.

"Midnight." The darkness that fell was as deep and terrible as that the black dragon had cast on them, and now- like then- it was made far worse by the knowledge that he was being attacked.

Dalamar closed his useless eyes, trying to focus his other senses through the fog of pain and escape his attacker. He scrambled backwards, his wounded shoulder screaming every time it was jarred. Everything was a blur of pain and darkness, broken only by the steady sound of Verminaard's footsteps drawing closer, far too close. The Dark elf redoubled his efforts to get away. His foot caught on something, a stone or twig or Nuitari knows what, and he fell heavily on his wounded shoulder. The pain was so intense he nearly passed out, rolling over on his good side and curling up instinctively against the agony.

The footsteps were closer now, then they were joined by a second pair. Clinging stubbornly to consciousness, Dalamar wondered who would be so foolish as to attack.

Suddenly, so abruptly the Dark elf wondered if he was dreaming, the darkness lifted. Painfully he pushed himself up on his good arm.

Verminaard was some distance away; clearly, he had been mistaken in believing him so close by, and he wasn't alone. Goldmoon was facing him, one hand catching the Dragon Highlord's thick wrist. Somehow, she had broken the spell on him, on them all in fact, for Raistlin and the others seemed to be free of the Dark Queen's power. Only Caramon was still unconscious.

With a guttural roar of rage, the dark cleric threw the Plainswoman to the ground, and raised his mace to crush her. Then froze, and with good reason, having been hit by Riverwind's arrows, Tanis's sword, and Raistlin's spell in the same moment. The Half-elf cursed as the human mage's magic scorched his arm. Verminaard spun around to face them, grievously wounded, and Goldmoon got to her feet. Face as cold and hard as the statue of her Goddess, she took hold of Dalamar's dagger, still jutting out of the cleric's back, and drove it deeper still.

The servant of Takhisis fell to his knees, and Dalamar saw blood dripping from the breathing slits in his helmet, then Sturm raised his own blade and cut the Dragon Highlord's head from his shoulders.

At the same moment as his rider's death, the red dragon fighting Flamestrike was hurled against the side of a nearby mountain by the dying female, and at the same moment as blood burst from Verminaard's body, the side of the mountain exploded into flames as both dragons died.

The silence after the din of the battle seemed almost absurd. The courtyard was almost empty; most of the people in it had left, fleeing south.

Dalamar saw all of this hazily through a veil of pain. Now the adrenaline had worn off, his shoulder hurt more than ever. He was sitting up, curled up and cradling his useless arm when he felt a touch on the side of his face. Looking up, he saw Raistlin, who was looking more than a little worried.

"Your shoulder?"

The Dark elf nodded, wincing as even that slight movement shot needles into his wounded flesh, the wounded muscles screaming with every motion.

Raistlin knelt down and undid the first few fastenings of the Dark elf's robes, loosening them enough to slide the fabric over his arm, baring the injury. Dalamar gave a snarl of pain and flinched away as his lover's fingers lightly ran over his shoulder.

"I'm checking to see if it's broken of not," Raistlin snapped impatiently, fingers probing the injury.

Dalamar bit his lip against the shocks even the lightest touch provoked, unable to hold back a cry of pain when Raistlin's fingers dug in hard against the bone. "It's not broken," the human finally reported. "It's sprained and you _are_ going to have a lot of bruising, but nothing that cannot be healed." He shot a meaningful look at Goldmoon.

The cleric of Mishakal nodded, laying her hands flat on Dalamar's wound. Again, he shuddered at the contact, quite beyond the pain, there was something nauseating about her touch. The touch of the Goodly Gods, he thought bitterly.

Her prayer was a bare whisper, soft and simple, Dalamar felt dizzy as the power touched him, but before long he felt the pain start to recede and a healing warmth spread throughout his aching muscles. By the time Goldmoon removed her hands, the rending agony was little more than a thin ache, and his head felt clear.

"Thank you," Dalamar said, standing up. He turned to Raistlin. "How about you? Are you hurt?" He glanced up at Goldmoon, hoping she had enough power to heal him if so.

His lover shook his head. "It was a spell, and not one that did any permanent damage. I should be fine."

Dalamar rolled his eyes. In other words; yes, he was hurt, thank you for asking. He reached over to catch Raistlin's hand and paused. His own hand was covered in blood; it coated his fingers and nails, and drops coursed up his wrist. He flexed his fingers, puzzled, then remembered. No, of course this wasn't his blood. That reminded him. Dalamar smiled at Raistlin instead and went to where Verminaard's body was hunched on the ground amidst a pool of blood, his black mace lying beside his outstretched hand. He pried his dagger from the dead Highlord's back. The weapon was covered with gore and the Dark elf made a mental note to buy new leather to wrap the grip, this one had been utterly ruined.

As he worked the blade out of the knots of bone and muscle, Dalamar's eyes fell on the dark cleric's mace. He finally pulled the dagger free and wiped it as best he could on the dead man's cloak, then walked over and picked the mace up. While his vows to the Gods of magic prohibited him from using any weapons save the staff and dagger, there was no harm in simply handling other weapons.

"Already stealing from the dead?" Sturm sounded disgusted.

Dalamar turned around to face the knight, and gave a thin smile. "I saved your life, Brightblade. Remember that before you speak to me."

It might have been entirely accidental, and on other occasions, he might have cheerfully joined in, but he had saved the knight's life and Sturm knew it.

"And I am not raiding the dead. Look at this. The Gods took all clerical items with them when they left after the Cataclysm. So far, the only ones we have found are powerful artefacts such as the Disks or the crystal staff, objects made by godly hands. This-" Dalamar brandished the mace- "was made by human hands, and fairly recently too. The marks and scratches on it are not old."

Tanis shrugged. "What are you saying? I'm sure that Goldmoon could make something equally as powerful given time."

"Precisely," Dalamar continued. "_Given time_. Whoever made this had time, and knew his or her powers well enough to do so, that kind of knowledge alone also takes time. Who knows how long the clerics of the Dark Queen have been walking the land?"

The Dark elf was interrupted by the sudden appearance of Tasslehoff, who came bounding up, chattering happily about a great chain and a red dragon and Nuitari knows what else. It was only when Half-elven stepped in that they got any sense from the kender. One piece of information puzzled Dalamar; Tasslehoff told them that Fizban was dead, having fallen to his death. The Dark elf shared Raistlin's opinion that there was more to the old and supposedly mad mage than met the eye. They looked at each other, and Raistlin shook his head slightly; he didn't think Fizban was dead either, especially when Tasslehoff had said he hadn't seen a body.

* * *

It took a while to find everyone. Flint and Laurana had been helping Elistan herd people out of Pax Tharkas. Tika had been aiding Maritta find her own husband and children as they had all been separated in the chaos. Gilthanas had got to the edge of the wood to report to a group of Qualinesti scouts once he saw Verminaard killed. Once they were once again together, all that was left to do was to leave Pax Tharkas themselves before the army sent to Qualinesti returned. They left by the south gates, meeting up with the refugees. The elven scouts who had brought them here were long gone, probably to fight the army advancing towards Qualinesti.

Dalamar looked back at the fortress, the side of the mountainside was still smoking where the two dragons had crashed into it. Pax Tharkas had been left in the not-so able hands of a clan of gully dwarves that the dragonarmy had enslaved.

The Dark elf tore his eyes away and looked south towards the forest of Qualinesti, grateful that- if nothing else- he would be spared suffering through that again.

_One chapter left to go!_

_Skull Bearer._


	20. Of Peace

_Dalamar Nightson- Glad you liked it. I'm really looking forward to writing Palin, it's going to be a lot of fun._

_Kalpana Silverstar- Here it is, the last chapter, until I get round to starting Dragons of Winter Night, that is._

_Infinite thanks to Chetwynd for the marvellous beta work throughout this very long installment._

**Crepuscule**

Chapter twenty - Of Peace

_Time flickers in the night  
Always looking to be right_

_You don't know  
Just sway  
You don't know  
Just sway  
And all you want is to find home...  
-Sway, Lost Prophets._

The chosen place was a valley hidden between towering mountains. There was plenty of fresh water, the woods were filled with game, and the passes would be easy to hold should the dragonarmies discover them, which would not be likely in the coming winter season. It took almost a month for everyone to be found and settled in the valley, and the place had been a hive of activity for weeks afterwards as the refugees settled in, burying their dead and building shelters. And now, a month and a half since Pax Tharkas, the valley would see its first celebration: Goldmoon and Riverwind's wedding.

Raistlin started. He had been sitting away from the others, on a boulder overlooking the valley, and he had felt arms sliding around his waist.

"Dalamar?"

"Who else?" The Dark elf's breath tickled the human's ear. "Were you expecting someone else?" His tone told the young mage exactly what he though of the likelihood of _that_.

"Hardly." Raistlin reached back and ran his fingers through Dalamar's black hair.

Things had been different when they had returned from Pax Tharkas, and however much Raistlin wished against it, it was true all the same. Their relationship had lost a lot of its simplicity and ease. Perhaps it was simply nostalgia, but it seemed as though things no longer fit quite as well as they had. Even in this, sitting there with Dalamar's arms around his waist, there was tension, though buried, and the younger wizard knew in his heart that it would remain there until he told his lover the truth about what had happened in his Test. Something he still couldn't bring himself to do, both from anger at the fact that the Dark elf wouldn't trust him any more if he did, and a wish to keep Dalamar in the dark for his own sake. So Raistlin kept silent. Each time he had committed to tell his lover the truth, he had found excuses at the last moment, or found himself unable to speak at the thought of what the result of his words would be.

Perhaps ignorance really would be bliss in this case. Some things were better left unknown. Sometimes Raistlin even wished he didn't know himself.

Dalamar kissed his cheek, pulling himself up to sit behind his lover. Raistlin sighed, feeling the elf's warm body against his back and his lips against the side of his face. The day was quite cold and he was grateful for the warmth, it was just as well he had drunk his tea before venturing out.

"Are you going to be there?" the elven mage inquired. "The others will expect you to be."

Raistlin shrugged; he couldn't care less about Goldmoon and Riverwind's wedding. "Do you?"

"I don't mind." The Dark elf's fingers drummed on the younger mage's collarbone. "But I would rather we go if the alternative is you brooding on this rock."

The human couldn't quite suppress a snort of amusement. Pushing his dark thoughts from his mind, he smiled. "Very well."

The two mages clambered down from the boulder and set off down the slope towards where the evening fires were burning. Perhaps Dalamar had been right, Raistlin though. He was feeling somewhat better as they made their way down, well enough to take his lover's hand and squeeze it gently. The Dark elf smiled and entangled their fingers.

* * *

The ceremony was about to start as they approached, joining the people standing in front of Elistan, who had been asked to oversee the vows. It was growing dark now, the sun setting behind the tall peaks as the bride's procession arrived. Laurana and Tika led the way, carrying torches, with Goldmoon behind them. As they arrived in front of Elistan, they turned west as the groom's procession came into view.

Raistlin had been invited to take part, and had coldly answered that, if they wouldn't allow Dalamar to do the same, they could forget about his involvement. Much to the Red Robe's amusement, when Caramon heard his brother was not partaking, he refused to join either, although he was more polite about it. If his twin had been hoping to speak to him during the wedding, he was going to be sorely disappointed, Raistlin mused. He wasn't planning to spend any time with his brother if he could possibly help it.

Sturm and Tanis appeared first, and Raistlin saw Dalamar's eyes narrow at the sight of the knight. The bad blood between them had been -if anything- aggravated when the elven wizard had inadvertently saved Brightblade's life. It was just as well the Dark elf had been asked not to join the procession; a fight might have broken out. Neither Raistlin nor the Dark elf had forgotten Sturm's attack in Pax Tharkas. It would only be a matter of time before there was another one.

Behind Tanis and Sturm came Riverwind, who was followed by Flint and Tasslehoff. The younger mage idly wondered if the kender had stolen the groomgift yet. The ceremony was a quiet one. Elistan's speech was simple, the rituals taken from those written in the disks of Mishakal, but Goldmoon and Riverwind had written their vows themselves. Once they had spoken, the gifts were exchanged. Tasslehoff had clearly managed to restrain himself, because the Plainsman's gift -a vallenwood ring- was still present.

Then Elistan spoke the final words the close the ceremony and the couple kissed deeply.

Raistlin looked at Dalamar. "You do know they haven't slept together before now?"

The Dark elf blinked, amazed. "Why would they do that? What do they have to prove to anyone?"

The human mage shrugged, he didn't know either, he bit back a smile at the memory of how quickly _they_ had reached that point in their relationship. Oh well, they always had been faster on the uptake than everyone else. By the look on Dalamar's face though, such self-denial was unbelievable. Raistlin was inclined to agree. With their people dead, who would care if they slept together, married or not? Abruptly the Red Robe stopped that train of thought. Imagining them sleeping together was mildly nauseating, and not only because they looked -to him- like rotting corpses. The memory of Amberyl, made him shudder.

Dalamar lay a hand on his shoulder comfortingly as they made their way to where the feast was set out. Raistlin looked up at him and saw that Dalamar was looking back towards Riverwind and Goldmoon, looking thoughtful. Raistlin smiled, pushing away the bad memories. "Imagining our wedding, Dalamar?" He teased.

The Dark elf choked, then started laughing. "And what a wedding that would be! I doubt we could find anyone to attend, and Elistan would have to tailor his speech a lot to make it fit."

Raistlin laughed softly, "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Dalamar grinned, "that I doubt you or I would like to play the part of the bride."

Raistlin chuckled, then coughed.

"Are you alright?"

He nodded. "Yes, but let's get to the feasting, I need my tea and there'll be hot water there."

* * *

The clearing which the feast was in was already full of people eating and drinking, especially drinking. "Get your tea," Dalamar offered. "I'll get us both some food and we can eat outside this madhouse."

Raistlin nodded, walking over to where a woman had swung a kettle over a fire. The water was already hot and it was a relief to drink the herbal mixture. Still holding the half-full mug, the human caught sight of Dalamar coming back with a basket of food. The Dark elf looked unusually pensive. The two mages found a spot a little way inside the tree line and sat down under a spreading elm.

"I saw him again," Dalamar spoke softly, as if worried about being overheard. "The man with the gem in his chest."

Raistlin almost dropped the mug. "Are you sure?" He remembered the rock fall; no one could have survived that.

The Dark elf nodded. "Quite sure."

Raistlin looked thoughtful. "That might explain it," he murmured, then explained, "When I saw that man, I saw him as I see you, unaging. I though he might have elven blood or-"

"Or Irda," Dalamar finished, knowing Raistlin's unwillingness to talk about that particular subject.

"-But this would make more sense, since he didn't look like either."

"Perhaps the gem in enchanted in some way?" the Dark elf suggested.

The human shrugged. "That must be it. Did he notice that you'd seen him?"

Dalamar nodded. "I think so, he vanished before I could close on him."

The younger mage sighed. A pity, but he had a shrewd suspicion they would meet the man again. As it was, it would be pointless to look for him now. There were far too many people, and he would probably already have left had he realised he'd been recognised. For the moment though, it was enough to forget -no matter for how short a time- the war raging across Ansalon. The others might speak of hope, but Raistlin knew just how little of it they had. However, this was not the moment for such thoughts, or for the thoughts that had haunted him only earlier, overlooking the valley. Right now, only one thing mattered: each other. One moment where there were no secrets, no war, nothing but each other and the love that bound them.

Raistlin lifted his head and kissed Dalamar deeply, letting that tender touch burn away all doubts and fears, if only for a moment.

Around them, the trees whispered.

**The End.**

_At last! That was one truly mammoth undertaking, for all that it's not over yet. 6 months, 20 chapters, nearly 90,000 words and a broken laptop later and that's just Dragons of Autumn Twilight!  
Don't worry, Winter Night and Spring Dawning will be shorter, since I won't be covering the 'golden general' storyline, and Spring Dawning will be mostly summarised._

_And Legends! Boy am I looking forward to that! But that's going to have to wait._

_Thanks so much to all of you who read, enjoyed and particularly (hint hint) reviewed._

_Skull Bearer._


End file.
